GTA: Faceless Enemy
by Griddles
Summary: The day Tommy Vercetti has dreaded for six years has finally arrived. The day in which his reign of Vice comes to an end. Did ya miss me?
1. The Call

My first fic, guys, please be nice.

Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of GTA, Rockstar Games do.

Chapter One: The Call. Set a few months after the conclusion of San Andreas.

Carl Johnson, or CJ, was your average resident of Los Santos. He was in his late twenties and lived in Ganton, a small, sleepy suburb of San Andreas. He was in the prime of his life, and already life-changing events had altered the world around him. His brother had died, he had spent five rough years in Liberty, and his return to Los Santos was just the beginning of his adventure.

Carl had become involved in a major drug war that had spread across the state of San Andreas, sweeping up his friends, his family, and his gang, the Grove Street Families, into a massive timebomb that tore apart his gang, his friendships, and his normally quiet life since returning from Liberty City.

His trusted friends Lance "Ryder" Wilson and Melvin "Big Smoke" Harris had turned on them, assisting a rival gang, the Ballas, with their efforts against Grove Street Families. Worse, a pair of corrupt cops and their unsuspecting friend Hernandez had the two former OG's on a leash, preventing any action against their treachery.

So it was up to Carl. Sweet, his brother, had been busted by the LSPD and put away, his best friends had abandoned him, and he was at the mercy of police officers Tenpenny and Pulaski. But that was where the ride of his life was just beginning.

CJ's sister, Kendl, was still by his side. She had always doubted the integrity of his gangsta friends, and had managed to escape the mess with her boyfriend, a Mexican lowrider fanatic by the name of Cesar Vialpando. Their support in CJ's endeavour to reunite Grove Street and to stomp out Big Smoke's huge crack ring had been what kept him going.

On the way, CJ had made new friends and new enemies. CJ met up with a lunatic hippy by the name of The Truth, who had led him on some of the most bizzare adventures of his rather long inter-city hunt. He had met up with and worked for a fiery Mexican woman by the name of Catalina, only to have her run off to Liberty City with her new boyfriend, a mute named Claude. There was Mike Toreno, an always-watching CIA agent, Dwaine and Jethro, two surfer dudes who now worked at his garage in San Fierro, and Zero, a nutty RC nerd who had put CJ through hell just so he could outdo his rival, Berkeley. And there was Wu Zi Mu, a blind Chinese Triad leader who owned the Four Dragons Casino in Las Venturas. Much of CJ's money came from Woozie and his business partners.

Finally, there was Madd Dogg, a rapper whom at one point had been totally washed-up, suffering from alcoholism, egomania and drug addictions. CJ had saved his life after Madd Dogg had attemtped suicide by jumping off the roof of a casino in Las Venturas. Now, thanks to his friends Kent Paul, Maccer and nerve-racked ex-lawyer Ken Rosenberg, Madd Dogg was back on top, his songs often airing on Radio Los Santos.

After taking out Officer Pulaski, San Fierro pimp Jizzy B, Ryder and a rifa gang member by the name of T-Bone Mendez, plus a heap of other less notable victims, CJ had returned to Los Santos to stop Smoke's drug empire.

It was three months after CJ had succeeded. The GSF were on top, with the help of Cesar's gang, the Varrios Los Aztecas. The Ballas and Vagos were easy pickings nowadays, occaisionally attacking areas like Glen Park or Idlewood with little success. Their homies could generally handle any threat such a that, leaving CJ and Sweet to enjoy their time at the top. Until one day...

CJ pulled his car, a Wheel Arch Angels-modded Sultan, up in front of Sweet's house at the end of the Grove Street court. Sweet's blue Greenwood was present outside, telling CJ that his brother was home. To his left, CJ saw the two-storey Johnson house, where Kendl stayed when she wasn't with Cesar. Behind him was the Grove Street overpass, a bridge spanning over the entrance to the GSF home base. There was a section of railing missing where an out-of-control firetruck had ploughed through a few months back.

CJ stepped out of his vehicle, the engine on idle in case he needed to leave in a hurry. Which was rare. He headed up the short path to Sweet's house and knocked on the door.

"Sweet!" he called, "Yo, it's your brother! Open up, homie!"

The door swung open, and Sweet stood in the door. He was a few years older than Carl, wearing his signature cap and shirt in Grove Street green. "Hey! Watcha doin' here? I thought you was up in Vinewood with Madd Dogg."

"Nah, Kent Paul's lookin' after the new album, so I thought I'd drop by, y'know?"

Sweet nodded, "Well, come in."

As CJ entered, Sweet called from the lounge room, "Hey! I managed to get a new video for us to watch when Cesar drops by!" he stuck his head around the door and held out a video to his brother. It was an adult film, starring Candy Suxxx. It was titled 'Mountain of Mash IV'

"Ah, man, another Steve Scott film?" CJ exclaimed. He was rather bored of Candy Suxx, even though Sweet was quite fond of her movies, such as 'Bite'.

"Hey! This one's got that Mercedes Cortez in it!" Sweet informed him, back in the lounge room again, "You like her, right?"

_Oh, shit, he knows?_ "Yeah, she's alright." Carl could never get enough of girls. He had several girlfriends across San Andreas, the closest being Denise just down the road.

"Well, stop by when Cesar gets in, we'll have a wild night." Sweet told him.

Carl sighed, "Yeah, for sure..." _Great... another porno..._

"Why'd you drop by, exactly?" Sweet called again, before Carl joined him in the lounge.

"Here's what's goin' down. Shit was fucked up with the Varrios. They're getting brought down by the Vagos. Apparently there's this new gang in town supplying them with heat and stuff. Then they just stopped, and the Varrios kicked their punk-asses back up to the north again."

Sweet chuckled. He loved happy endings, "Well, served them right for fucking with Cesar's gang."

"But that's the thing! If this new gang appears and starts assisting the Ballas, then we could be in serious shit when-"

Carl was cut off by a ringing noise. It was the cellphone in his back pocket.

"Hang on..." he told Sweet, answering the phone. He hoped it wasn't Catalina calling to screech in his ear like she usually did. "Speak." he told the caller.

"Carl," came a voice which made Carl stiffen. He hadn't expected to hear from him again, "remember me? I need you to meet me at your airfield in Verdant Meadows. We gotta... talk."

Before Carl could respond, the line cut out on the caller's end. He had hung up.

Carl slowly turned to his brother, "Ahhh... some shit has come up, I gotta ride."

"'Kay. Catcha round, homie."

"Yeah, for sure."

Carl turned and headed out the door of Sweet's place, and jumped into his Sultan. He sped around and out of Grove Street, Radio X blaring out of the speakers. The thought of the call lingered in his mind as he finally digested what he was doing.

He was off to meet, once again, with the one man that freaked him out more than The Truth.

Mike Toreno.

That's it for chapter 1. Should pick up shortly. Feel free to R R. No flames, please.

A little fact: I haven't actually finished GTA San Andreas yet, so I'm going off what I've heard from others.

Griddles.


	2. Return of Toreno

Toreno's Return

Hi all! Great to have heard from a couple of you. Just to let you know: since the last chapter I have beaten SA. And yes, I know, Zero's missions are a pain in the rear.

Anyways, on with the show. I don't own GTA, R does. Rated PG - 13 for language, violence, the usual GTA content.

CJ's trip north to Verdant Meadows was the usual for him. When someone talks about CJ, that means police attention, overflying helicopters and thousands of civilians struggling to get out of his way. The Sultan was long gone, having been ditched near Palomino Creek. The police had been shaken, and now CJ had jacked an inconspicuous Walton pickup and was slowly trudging north through the Las Venturas countryside.

On his left was the Li'l Probe Inn, a small bar in the middle of nowhere, complete with a small motorized spinning UFO out front. Apparently it held secrets, one of which was rumoured to be a map of mysterious happenings around the state. CJ himself thought it was bullshit, but, being so close to the military base Area 69, anything could be possible. Many weird things were happening in San Andreas lately, CJ reckoned, as he tuned the Walton's radio over to San Andreas' only talk and news radio station, WCTR.

A voice was saying, "-and that's all we have time for today! I'm Derek Thackery, thanks for lis'ning to the Tight End Zooooooone!" the loud guy was shouting.

A string of music came on as a male voice spoke, "All the news we can legally tell you. WCTR!"

CJ rolled his eyes. The Truth was the source of all the news WCTR couldn't give him. But what the hell, it was news time. What was going on in San Andreas today?

A female voice spoke, "It's horrible, it's terrible. It's the news, and it's next."

Another female broke in, "I'm Leanne Forget, WCTR news! Today's top stories: The Military: why are they so cool? Plus, 80-year-olds with hard-ons. Why is it so freaky?" Leanne's voice went on, "In local news, yet another aircraft has been stolen from San Fierro airport. The aircraft in question, a Shamal corporate jet, was stoln earlier today by an unidentified individual who claimed to be working for the government. Richard Burns is on the scene."

"That's right, Leanne," came a young male voice, "the mysterious individual has stolen a corporate jet and has since headed north. I interviewed a ground controller earlier. He appeared to be in shock, Leanne, but only because the aircraft wasn't insured. Back to you, Leanne."

"Mystery surrounds the discovery of another Plymouth Glendale battered and abandoned southeast of Mt. Chiliad. The area, known as Back O' Beyond by the locals, has turned up many more of these old vehicles during the evenings. Ghosts? Aliens? A spawning glitch? Carjackers are investigating. And in crime news, a mysterious influence over the Los Santos Vagos street gang appears to have vanished from the state. It is unknown who these strange gangsters are, why they are here, or even if they exist. More news as we receive it." the music then cut in, "I'm Leanne Forget, WCTR news. You never know where we'll be next!"

The first female voice came back on, "I Say, You Say is next. God help us all."

CJ saw his airfield up ahead. It was dusk now, and he could see the light of the control tower, his Pitts Stuntplane and the two helicopters (A Leviathan and an AH-64 Hunter) flickering by the dirt runway. His other two craft, a P-40 Rustler and a Hydra jet, were parked in their two small hangerports. No sign of Toreno's presence. He flipped off the radio as the Walton pulled up beside the hangar on the southern side of the field, where CJ kept a couple of spare aircraft in case of emergency.

Emerging from the Walton, which he doubted he'd need again, CJ headed for the control tower, where he often kept the jetpack he had stolen from Area 69. Still no sign of Toreno. Checking around the tower, he saw no sign of the nutty CIA agent, so he moved over towards the hangars and parked aircraft. He noticed a weird metal bump on the ground near the Hunter's parking spot. He'd never seen it before, but then again he never really did bother looking.

"Toreno! YO! Toreno!" he shouted, but got no reply.

He headed for the hangar in which his trusty Rustler was parked. As he approached and peered in, a slightly distorted voice spoke, "Carl!"

CJ jumped almost six feet in the air, forgetting the loudspeaker that Toreno had installed at the airfield. He turned on the speaker and felt inclined to whip out a Desert Eagle and shoot it apart. But it was currently the only contact he had with Toreno, so he resisted.

"Toreno! Ya punk-ass! What the fuck you got me out here for?"

"Carl, Carl, Carl..." came Toreno's voice calmly, as if addressing a pre-schooler.

"It's CJ! CJ!"

"Fine... CJ... I'll be with you in a moment. Feel free to look out to the west."

CJ did as requested. On the horizon in the darkening sky was a flickering light, slowly heading towards him. Aircraft landing lights, if he wasn't mistaken. He watched as it drew closer, enough for him to make it out as a Shamal private jet.

"What the-" CJ managed to stammer. Was it the same jet that he heard had been stolen from Fierro airport? "Toreno! That you coming down? Why'd you steal that jet?"

"You'll find out." Toreno's voice came back.

As the plane edged closer, Carl could see another light gaining upon it. Rapdily. Very rapidly. It was too fast to be a regular aircraft. In fact, the only aircraft it could've been was a-

"Toreno! Hydra behind you!"

The aircraft launched a missile at the corporate jet, the white ball of light streaking up to the wing of the Shamal. The Shamal quickly banked right, and the missile missed, streaking around and slamming harmlessly into the ground. The Hydra in turn launched a second rocket at the jet, which had resumed course for the airfield. It was too close to dodge this time. It exploded against it, sending the small aircraft into a spin towards the ground. CJ watched as the jet slammed into the western end of the airfield and exploded into a massive fireball, smoke rising into the evening sky.

Carl was dumbstruck as the attacking Hydra shot overhead, leaving Toreno's jet a burning wreckage. "Impressive, eh?" came a familiar voice.

Carl jumped again as he turned to see the clean-shaven Toreno standing behind him, an RC controller in his hand. "You... you..."

"No, I'm not a ghost, Carl. That aircraft was under remote control. A bit of thanks to your friend Zero, mind you." Toreno chuckled and watched the wreck of the Shamal burn. A firetruck from the SAPD would no doubt be here shortly. "That is the second time I faked my death, Carl."

"What kinda shit you talking 'bout now, man?"

"I have faked my death twice now. The first time was thanks to you shooting down that helicopter that I was supposed to be on, and now this jet, which I was _also _supposed to be on." Toreno explained, "And now I'm here, once again speaking with you."

"So what the hell do you want this time? You told me I'd never hear from you again!"

"Well, hey, I lied. Desperate times, CJ. Now, you're wondering why I'm here, faking my death and breaking my oaths? Well, I'll tell you." Toreno hesitated a bit before pressing on, "What do you know about a man by the name of..."

Toreno paced up and down in front of Carl, staring at the ground, hands behind his back, before he concluded with,

"Tommy Vercetti?"

CJ knew he'd heard that name before, but he didn't know where, "Heard of him. Dunno what he does, though."

"I'll tell you. He runs the criminal underworld in Vice. He's been on top for 6 years now, enjoying relative peace and zero competition. He has been one of my greatest allies in my efforts in Vice. Has ties with the Cuban gangs there, owns the Boatyard there, a Porn Studio, Strip Club, Car Showroom, Taxi Company... anyway, he owns all, basically. But he's in deep shit at the moment, CJ. That's why I need your help."

"What the fuck do you think I could possibly do?" CJ yelled in exasparation.

"What do you think you can do?" Toreno blasted back, "You took down the Loco Syndicate. Stomped out C.R.A.S.H.! Took down Smoke's drug ring! Brought Madd Dogg back to the top!" he paused before finishing, "You fucking robbed Caligula's Casino! You have proven that almost anything doable can be done by you!"

CJ rolled his eyes, "Okay, fine. So what do I have to do?"

"Round up the guys and-"

Suddenly, a loud engine sound rolled overhead. The two looked up to see the same Hydra that brought down the Shamal hover over, its jets keeping it aloft. It swung around as it passed over, bearing straight down upon the two men. It had the perfect shot at them. Busted.

"Toreno... I say we take cover..."

Toreno merely chuckled and fiddled with the remote in his hand. "Okay... let's see what this can do..."

At that moment, the small metallic dome on the tarmac which CJ had passed by suddenly rose out of the ground. It rotated to face the Hydra, inside of the turret two small rockets. It was an automated missile system! Toreno pressed a button on the controller, sending one of the two rockets flying at the front of the figther jet.

Sluggish in hover mode, the Hydra was unable to avoid the small weapon. It struck the front of the jet, causing a rather large explosion for a rocket that size. The whole forward section of the Hydra erupted into flame, exploding outwards. The remainder of the jet crashed to the ground amongst the dozens of other trashed aircraft that surrounded the airstrip.

Toreno chuckled to himself as the turret retracted into the ground. CJ gaped at him as the agent muttered, "You can thank your friend The Truth for that. Him and his hippy pals managed to swipe that for me from a convoy in Venturas. Very handy for airfield defence. Anyway..."

CJ kept glancing between Toreno and the small rocket turret and back as Toreno finished what he was saying before, "I'll keep you updated, but for the moment I need all the help I can get."

"Why can't you get your government pals to help you?"

"I can't, cos everyone's watching, remember?" Toreno pointed to the hill at the north, "Two on that hill-"

"Yeah, yeah, two on that hill, one on the hill over there, and two by satellite."

"Actually, two on that hill, two by satellite, and one by a spyplane about 60,000 feet above us. At any rate, I need you to go and meet Mr Vercetti for me. Get your friends together and head to the LS airport. There's an AT-400 there ready to take you and your... homies... to Vice. I'll keep you posted."

"Ah, man... just as I was about to kick ma heels back..." CJ complained.

Toreno laughed, "Ah, come on Carl! Be happy! You're going to Vice City!" With that he turned and walked towards the control tower, and disappeared behind it. Carl hesitated, before deciding to follow Toreno. However, as soon as he rounded the corner, Toreno was nowhere to be seen.

To be continued...

That's it for Chapter 2. I'm going for a 'Hey, I remember that!' feel in this fic. How am I doing?

Please R&R!

Griddles.


	3. Tommy's Torment

Yo, all! I'm taking a break from entertaining all of the San Andreas girlfriends to make this third installment. Glad you all like it so far.

Cheers to all those who reviewed. Support is greatly appreciated.

On with the show...

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Tommy's Torment.

He stood at the top of the mansion's grand staircase, staring down at the doorway, Colt Python in hand, ready to cap any of Sonny's men who dared set foot inside his house. They were after his money and his head. They were going to get neither.

Sonny Forelli, Mafia badboy, was here for the cash that Tommy was supposed to get from a drug deal. Unfortunately, the deal was ambushed, resulting in the death of Tommy's two workmates and the drug dealer himself. The money had been recovered, and was currently stored in the safe in the room behind him, formerly owned by Ricardo Diaz, the Coke Baron.

The first Mafia agent ran into the mansion, a Colt .45 in hand, ready to take Tommy down and leave with a fistful of dollars for his efforts. Unfortunately, that dream was cut short when a bullet from Tommy's Python pierced his chest and sent him tumbling to the floor. Another Mafia guy dashed in, and tripped over his collegue's body, all the time Tommy needed to send a second bullet through the guy's back.

And so they kept coming. Sonny kept his distance, even though he sported a flashy Ruger rifle which could have brought Tommy down at any second, leaving his abundance of goons to take care of the dirty work. Tommy had an easy time picking them off, occasionally switching to a SPAS 12 shotgun when multiple guys came towards him at once. Despite the numerical disadvantage, not one guy made it past Tommy into the room behind him. He was Vice City's kingpin and he would stop at nothing to keep that title.

That was when he saw him, dashing out a side corridor, his white and purple suit concealing dense body armour. Lance chuckled, brandishing a Ruger identical to Sonny's. He cackled.

"No-one to cover your ass now, eh Tommy?"

Tommy grabbed the shotgun and fired straight at the double-crossing prick, only to have the shots absorbed by the body armour. "You're going down, Lance!"

Lance chuckled, "Oh, you think so?" he raised his Ruger, fired a couple of stray shots, and dashed back into the corridor.

Tommy, fuming at what his ex-partner had done to his plans for Vice, took off after him, shotgun still in hand. He tore down the corridor, Lance's white outfit slinking around the next corner. As he rounded it he crouched, several of his henchmen, dressed in a variety of shirts similar to his own, a blue Hawaiian T-shirt, in the middle of a firefight with more of Sonny's guys.

He came to the staircase that led up to the helipad on the roof, and dodged back for cover as a bullet from Lance's rifle struck the bannister. Tommy jumped out and fired up at Lance, "Come here, you double-crossing piece of shit!"

Lance fired back, missing, and took off again, yelling, "You're history Tommy! History!"

Tommy growled and took off in pursuit, not wnating to become part of a history book anytime soon. One of Sonny's thugs jumped in front of him, in time to have the butt of Tommy's rifle shoved into his gut. Tommy heaved the guy over the edge of the staircase, and relished the sound of the satisfying thud that followed.

Stepping out onto the roof of his mansion, Tommy was surrounded by packs of Sonny's men. Instinctively, Tommy ducked behind a pile of crates. It was Harwood all over again. He aimed his rifle at the oncoming mob of thugs and mowed them down. He saw a trio of them, one with an M-4 assault rifle, standing near a bright red barrel. Big mistake.

Tommy rolled out from behind the crates and fired directly at the barrel, causing an explosion that sent the bodies of the three men flying off the roof into the driveway below. Then he saw Lance, crouching behind another bunch of crates next to the helipad, where a Bell Maverick sat. Tommy was almost tempted to jump off the roof, jump into the Bell Seasparrow down in the backyard, then fly up here and mutilate the prick with the Seasparrow's machine gun. Unfortunately, that option was almost certainly out of the question, as one well-fired bullet from the Ruger Lance held would have put an end to his takeover for good.

Instead, Tommy pumped round after round in Lance's direction. Several got through the body armour, staining his white suit with red. To be honest, Tommy thought it was a good outfit. Shame it was being worn by a backstabbing bastard like Lance.

"This is the last dance for Lance Vance!" Tommy cried, mockingy.

"I told you I had enough of that at school!" Lance shouted back, firing blindly over the crates as more and more rounds whizzed over his head. Finally, he stood up, wanting the perfect shot.

Tommy got there first.

A single bullet was all it took to pierce the armour. Lance crumpled to the ground, the Ruger slipping from his hand. Tommy growled, convinced that the backstabber had gotten what he deserved, "You picked the wrong side, Lance."

Tommy then turned on his heel and charged back downstairs to the safe. He peeled down the stairway, knocking aside another of Sonny's men. The thug's head hit the armrail and made a sickening crack, the guy's body slumping to the red-carpeted floor. Tommy tore past the scene of the firefight, Sonny's men having been cut down, but not without several dead on his side as well.

Dashing into the main lobby of his mansion, he quickly did away with several more Mafia dickheads, as Tommy's rampage of revenge once again took him to the top of the staircase that stood in front of the safe room. There were two guys in the room, helping themselves to as much of the green as they could carry. Tommy made sure, with two precision shots, that neither made it out.

Then Tommy turned and saw the man who had screwed him around the whole time. He glared down at him with vengeance in his eyes. One way or another, it would end here.

"You took fifteen years from me, Sonny! Now I'm gonna make you pay!"

Sonny chuckled as two more of his lapdogs flanked him. "You still don't get it, do you? I OWN you, Tommy. Those fifteen years were MINE to spend." with a quick glance at his two buddys, he ordered, "Get him boys, he never understood a thing."

Tommy aimed and fired at the first thug. The shot was so well place it took the guy's head off, his lifeless and headless corpse dropping to the floor. He aimed at the second, and pulled the trigger. Nothing came out.

Tommy cursed and ducked behind the rail as Sonny opened fire on him with his Ruger, laughing to himself as though he enjoyed taking down former assosciates as a sport. Tommy grit his teeth and grabbed the Colt Python he had dropped after going after Lance. He jumped out of hiding and fired, the shot so powerful it broke through the second guy's chest and impacted against the far wall. The dead body slumped at his feet. Now it was just him and Sonny. Mano - a - mano.

Suddenly, Tommy felt a hand grip his shoulder, and he wheeled. "What the-"

Lance raised his Ruger directly at him and pulled the trigger. The mansion, Sonny, and Lance faded into a misty white as the bullet went straight through his head.

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Tommy's eyes jerked open. He caught his breath and sat up. Rubbing his forehead, he determined that, once again, it had only been a dream. That day, when he had killed both Lance and Sonny after they had turned on him, had been six years ago.

He got to his feet, his back aching. He stared down at the leather couch he had been sleeping on, in the main room of his mansion. Nearby was his desk, where he always kept a spare MP5 submachinegun in case of emergencies, the surveillance screens showing images from nearly every angle of the mansion, and on the wall were pictures of one of his movie starlets, Candy Suxxx. Everything, it seemed, was normal.

He walked out into the lobby and slowly made his way down the grand staircase. He turned left and headed into the small room where he often had breakfast should he not decide to head out to the new Cluckin' Bell that had opened up near where Avery's construction sites were. Last he had heard, Avery was still going strong in his attempts to acquire every portion of prime land he could in Vice. His apprentice, Donald Love, had moved off to Liberty City and was attempting to make it in the world of media, or radio, or something Tommy couldn't quite remember.

He sat down at the minibar and flipped on the coffee machine. He felt like crap this morning, so he probably needed a couple of espressos at least. While it was boiling, Tommy strode out to the front of the mansion and peered out across the front towards the north. Even though the numerous houses and trees on Starfish Island blocked his view, somewhere up there was Prawn Island, where movie director Steve Scott was no-doubt coming up with ideas for yet another Candy Suxxx porno.

He could see, down to his right by the garage, the sparkling white body of his Lambourghini Infernus. It had once been Lance's, but only the best keep the goods. Apparently, it was one of the last of the type left, as Acura had bought rights to the new Infernus model, and had already sold them to many areas in the west. To his left was his limo, which he rarely needed unless helping Steve out with a movie tour.

He ducked back inside, strolled into the breakfast room and poured his coffee. He brought the steaming drink to his lips, just as a voice interrupted his thoughts, "Catch you at a bad time, Tommy?"

Tommy slowly turned, smiling slightly, "Toreno, you old dog, what are you doing back here?"

Mike Toreno folded his arms as he leant against the wall, "I've just come back from San Andreas. Thought I'd stop by. I've got some news for you." then he tilted his head slightly, "You alright?"

Tommy rubbed his forehead and the side of his face, feeling the presence of stubble. His hair, thankfully, was still a dark shade of brown. No grey areas yet... "Ah, just had a rough sleep."

"You look more like you've been interrogated by Nazis." Toreno commented.

Tommy sipped his coffee, "It's some sort of dream I keep having. Every so often, but it's the same. It's of the day, six or so years ago, when my old boss, Sonny Forelli, came here to collect twenty million off me after a bungled drug deal. My former friend had turned on me, so it was up to me to stop them both from ruining the name I had made for myself here. It plays out exactly the same as the real thing, except when I'm about to kill Sonny, Lance comes back, and kills me instead. But I killed him on the rooftop. What do you think that means? Is it trying to tell me something?"

Toreno chuckled, "In dunno, I'm not Chris Formage..."

"Who?"

"Ah, some nutter who runs the Epsilon Program."

Tommy remembered that name, some guy from the Epsilon Program had appeared on Maurice Chavez's Pressing Issues as few weeks back.

"So what's your news?" Tommy asked, taking another drink of coffee. He was feeling better already.

"This whole new influence bullshit that's coming to town is the real deal, Tommy. Whoever they are, they mean business. I've done my research and it's not the Columbians. They've been having stuff go wrong in Liberty and Carcer, so it's likely they'll be delayed from setting up down here. But, no matter who they are, they want to take you out, Tommy."

Tommy grumbled, "And I was expecting some good news..."

"There is some, if you want to hear it." Toreno said. Tommy nodded, so the CIA agent went on, "I managed to round up some guys from San Andreas. A ragtag team, but they're quite skilled. Managed to pull all kinds of crazy shit over there. I believe your old pal Ken Rosenberg is among them."

Tommy's face lit up. He hadn't heard from Ken in three years.

"So anyway, they're here on Thursday. You might want to welcome them. Get together some guys and make 'em feel welcome."

"So... they're here to help out. Do they have any idea who this new power is?"

Toreno shook his head, pacing slightly around the room, "Doubt it. One of them is some crazy hippy guy who knows almost everything he's not supposed to. Maybe he has links with some info. But anyway, you've got a few days to prepare. I suggest you use them. You'll also need weapons. Lots of them."

Tommy chuckled, "Don't worry, I know a guy who's got plenty to go around."

Toreno nodded and headed for the door, "I'll keep you posted. Meantime, don't let that dream bother you. You gotta spend more time with Mercedes. Might cheer you up a bit."

Tommy shrugged, "I guess."

"Watch your back!" Toreno reminded as he headed out through the front door into the sunlight.

Tommy groaned, the image of Lance holding the Ruger to his head still fresh in his mind. He decided that he needed to distract himself, both from the visions, from the Haitians and from those new boys in town. He headed upstairs and changed into his brown and pink suit, swallowed the last of his coffee, and headed outside. The garage opened obediently for him and he jumped inside the waiting '72 Sabre Turbo. Inside the glove box was stashed a Micro-SMG, just in case of any police trouble.

He sped out of the driveway and over the bridge to Washington Beach, and toward the one place he knew was the best distraction from troubles in all of Vice.

The Pole Position Club.

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Okay, not the most action-packed chapter, but it had to start somewhere. We're heading back to San An in the next installment, have no fear.

Please review. My first fic, I always appreciate input!

Cheers,

Griddles.


	4. Road Trip

Hey, fellas! Glad you're all liking the fic. In response to some reviews...

Sharpshooter: Glad you're into it, there'll be a lot more Tommy where that came from! Plus some other familiar faces...

NoDogg063: I haven't bothered to get past supply lines. Not worth it in my opinion.

E-Z B: I actually haven't played Manhunt, so the best I can do for Carcer at the moment are references.

I'm trying to get ahold of GTA3, so we might be seeing a bit of Claude and Catalina later on too...

On with the show...

Road Trip

"Awright." CJ muttered, pacing around the main room of the two-storey Johnson house, "We have our team together. That's good. Now, we need a plan."

Blind Mountain Cloud Triad leader Wu Zi Mu, raised a hand and made a proposition, "How about we arrange some extra Triad protection. You never know when those rival gangs will try and take you out."

CJ chuckled, "Yeah, but we're going to Vice City, not up the road and back! Come on. Think large-scale, here!"

The Truth shrugged, "I dunno, man. If we're heading to Vice... then won't we need a bit of firepower?" the hippy scratched his greying beard, but CJ jumped on the idea.

"That's good, Truth, I like that."

Zero reached over and gave The Truth a pat on the back, only to be shoved away by Cesar Vialpando.

"Could that Toreno dude give us some guns or something? I hear he's got whole lotta sweet heat at his ranch, man!" Jethro commented.

CJ shook his head, "He could, but I'm more concerned 'bout the trip over. Could get nasty if this new gang of fuckers wants to mess with us."

Cesar joined in, "Well, holmes, I'm guessin' we'll need something that flies. We're going in a passenger jet, ese, we need some aerial support."

CJ nodded, "I got a Hydra at my airfield up north, but that rules me outta flyin' the resta you guys. We need another pilot." he began pacing the room in thought. Silence continued for a few moments before someone spoke.

"I fly."

It was Sweet.

CJ whirled, "You fucking WHAT?"

"I fly, dawg, been doin' it for ages!" Sweet said.

"Since when you been flyin', man?"

"Since you fucked off to Liberty, man. Smoke and Ryder may have been fuckin' round here in da hood, but I wanted to make it worth my while. I tried to get my wings, went through all the trainin' and shit. I only stopped when momma died. But I still know how to fly a plane, nigga."

CJ shook his head, "Awright, cool. If you're confident, we'll do it your way. Any more questions?"

Zero was the only one to raise his hand. The others remained silent. Kent Paul, who sat near Zero, shook his head. CJ tried to ignore Zero, but he started making a loud whining noise that begged attention.

Finally, CJ gave in, "What, Zero?"

"Um... I was just wondering - not that I disapprove of your simply ingenious plan of attack - but... what will I be doing?"

CJ shrugged, "Look, man, I just really don't think there will be much for you to do. We're going into full-scale warfare here, we can't use pissy little toys!"

"They're NOT toys!" Zero protested.

CJ scoffed, "Whatever. Look, you're fine when we need you-"

"Only fine?" muttered Zero to himself.

"-but right now, we don't really need you."

Zero whined and sulked, his eyes hidden by his crappy baseball cap.

"So, we all in?" CJ asked. There were nods all around. CJ shared individual glances with his entire team.

Sweet, his brother, always there to help out when needed. Since taking down Smoke and Tenpenny, Sweet was convinced CJ had paid off his personal debts after running off to Liberty City following the death of his teenage brother, Brian.

Cesar Vialpando, the Mexican lowrider fanatic and his girlfriend, CJ's sister Kendl. Cesar had heard that this Vercetti guy owned a car showroom in Vice, and was interested in helping out after recently having put together another showroom in Fierro. Kendl, like Sweet, was loyal to her brother.

Woozie and his Triad boys, ready to get a foothold in Vice's metropolis. While not a major gambling town like Las Venturas, it did have its benefits, especially given that there was a bit of free land left to build upon. Woozie had left his casino, the Four Dragons, under the control of Triad boss Ran Fa Li until he got back. Woozie also had some contacts in Vice he promised could be of great use.

The Truth and his pals Dwayne and Jethro, always wanting the low-down on the dirty goings-on in Vice. Dwayne and Jethro had originally owned a boatyard in Vice, which was bought out by none other than Mr Tommy Vercetti himself.

Kent Paul, a Brit who personally knew Tommy Vercetti, as did Ken Rosenberg, sitting on his left. While Madd Dogg was on tour in Europe, Paul, Ken and Maccer (who they had decided to leave at the mansion for everyone's sake) were free to join CJ's escapade to Vice. Kent Paul had originally worked with European band Love Fist, who, although unconfirmed, was rumoured to be making a comeback tour. Paul also wanted to see how his favourite club in Vice, the Malibu, was doing.

Ken Rosenberg had once been Vercetti's lawyer and now, although banned from practicing the law, wanted to meet up with his old friend once again. He also wanted to get away from that weirdo Maccer.

Oh, and Zero happened to be sitting there, too...

CJ rubbed his hands together, "'Kay guys! Let's do this! I'll head up north, grab the Hydra, and meet you at Los Santos airport. Hopefully, the guard there won't hold you up, cos Toreno arranged for you to get in. Any problems, keep a spare Nine with ya. Got it?"

Nods everywhere.

"Okay, good to have you roll wid us. See y'all soon." CJ turned and exited the house, his car (a jet-black Mazda ZR-350) waiting for him outside.

Sweet got to his feet, having been lounging on the sofa next to the TV. He was more than happy to come along to Vice. Big Bear, who had come back to the Grove after being under OG B-Dup's control for the past few years, was in control of the hood, whilst Jeffrey, or OG Loc as he liked to be called, was keepin' quiet, sneaking out of his house every so often with a gun, tryin' to be gangsta, and often ending up at the cop station down town.

Sweet often thought Loc had been better as an 'ar-teest'.

"Well, let's get rollin'. Woozie, Truth, Dwayne and Jethro, you can come with me. Zero, get back to Fierro, your shop need you. Cesar and Kendl... you guys keep it clean. Paul and Ken, you guys are with me, too."

"Whoa! Man, your car that big?" Dwayne called out.

Sweet shrugged, "It does the job, man."

They all headed outside, where it was now dark, into the cul-de-sac that was Grove Street. Cesar's bright red '64 Savanna lowrider was sitting on the kerb, Cesar jumping over the door into the driver's seat. Kendl got in the other side, flipping the radio onto Radio Los Santos.

Sweet, meanwhile, made his way to a dark Mitsubishi Landstalker parked in the driveway of his house. The old Dodge Greenwood was on the road next to it, so it was obviously a new car. It had three rows of seats, enough to fit the three hippies, Woozie and the two ex-Vice.

"Jump in, fellas, let's ride."

Cesar's Savanna took off down Grove Street, radio blaring, the hydraulic springs on the car bouncing the front of the car up in time to the music on the radio.

"One serious showoff, man." Jethro noted, climbing into the row of seats behind the driver after Paul and Ken had squeezed into those at the back. Woozie slid in next to Sweet.

"Nice car." he noted, "Is it fast?" Woozie often competed in street racing, which had funded his casino and the betting shop he owned in Fierro.

"Not the fastest. Good for drive-bys though." Sweet replied, "Hopefully those motherfuckin' Ballas stay away from us."

"Me too." Woozie replied, absent-mindedly, getting the feel of the seat.

Sweet pulled out of the driveway and made its way under the Grove Street overpass and out into suburban Ganton. Sweet turned left and headed south, and for the first time noticed that Woozie had a suitcase with him.

"What's that for?" Sweet asked.

Woozie smiled, his eyes hidden behind his black glasses, "Oh... just in case..."

Sweet flipped the radio on, K-DST resounding out of the speakers. Jethro immediately leaned forward, "Change it over, man. Change it to WCTR."

Sweet turned around, "Why?"

"Gardening with Maurice should be on, man!" Dwayne replied for him.

"Gardening with... man, you listen to that shit!" Sweet exclaimed.

"Yeah, man! You never know what kinds of plants make cars go faster, man!" Jethro replied enthusiastically.

The Truth joined in, "Hey, man, you got a cellphone? I gotta ring Area 53!"

Suddenly, a bullet struck the side of the car. Sweet swore and skidded the car, the shock making him lose control of the Landstalker briefly. "Shit! Ballas!"

Sure enough, a Chevy Tahoma pulled alongside the four-wheel-drive, several guys wearing purple leaning out. They carried Mac-10 Micro-SMGs with them, steadily launching their heat at the four-wheel drive.

Ken went crazy in the back seat, freaked out of his mind, although that was not unusual for him. Paul tried to calm him as Sweet swerved onto the kerb, knocked over a light pole, and ran over a hooker on the sidewalk. The Ballas car couldn't be shaken, though, even as Dwayne and Jethro were pounding it with bullets from their Nines.

Woozie suddenly popped open his briefcase. Sweet had trouble keeping an eye on the road as he gawked at what Woozie pulled out: A Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifle.

"Shit, man, where the fuck d'you get that?" Sweet shouted over the din of bullets fired both at them and toward their enemy.

Woozie shrugged, "Casino security spared it for me. Just tell me where to point it." he wound down the window and stuck the barrel of the rifle out the door. He rested it on the sill and waited for Sweet's instructions.

Trying to stay focused on the road, Sweet stuttered, "Uh, okay, a little to the left... uh, no... shit, uh... right. Right a bit more-"

A bullet hit the window above Woozie's ear and he fired the rifle out of reflex. The stray shot sailed past the car, striking a passing cop. Sweet swore. There would no doubt be HPV-1000 police bikes on their tail in no time.

"Where are they?" Woozie asked loudly over the din. One of Dwayne's bullets managed to puncture the Tahoma's rear tyre.

"Fucked if I know, man, I gotta keep driving!" Sweet growled.

Woozie concentrated on where the bullets where coming from, pointed the barrel in the general direction of the source, and squeezed the trigger.

The first shot struck one of the Ballas in the chest, his body toppling out of the car and flattened under the punctured rear tire, the wheel slicing through his body. The second bullet went through the windscreen, and straight through the driver's head. The third and final shot went wide, puncturing the fuel tank.

In a blaze of light that illuminated that dark streets of Los Santos, the Balla car exploded into a violent eruption of flame and fuel free to burn itself. The doors and bonnet hood went flying off the wreck, as did one of the forward tyres, the burnt-out wreck skidding to a halt in front of several shocked pedestrians, cops and hookers.

Woozie pulled the rifle back inside the car and secured it in the briefcase, "I think we got them." he said calmly.

Sweet and the others merely gawked at him.

The airport terminal guard was slightly confused as a bullet-ridden Landstalker pulled up beside the gates. A black man wearing a green top and cap leaned out the window, "Hey man, we need to get through."

"Identification, please?" the guard asked lazily.

"Johnson. Sean Johnson." Sweet replied, giving the guard his real name. If there was gonna be any trouble, he'd cap the guard and let them in himself. Sweet saw headlights in his rear-view mirror, and watched Cesar's red lowrider pull up behind them.

"What's the hold-up, holmes?" Cesar shouted at them. Kendl looked slightly impatient, too.

The guard checked his list of registrations, before tapping a button on a control panel on the wall of his booth. The gates slid open, "You're Johnson? I expected someone a bit more upmarket than you, considering that suited-up guy gave me your registration."

Sweet pulled out a Tec-9 and pointed it in the guard's direction, "Watch it, motherfucker, or tonight you'll lose more than your job."

The guard nodded fearfully.

Sweet desposited his SMG, muttering, "Straight buster..." before the two vehicles sidled onto the tarmac. Ahead of them was a large jet, no doubt the AT-400 Toreno had gotten for them, parked at the entrance to the runway. No sign of CJ or his jet.

Sweet parked the vehicle and the guys slowly got out, Ken still agitated and jumpy. "Well, this the place. Looks like we're a little early, too."

"Where's CJ at?" Kendl asked to herself, glancing around.

"Yo! Bro, over here!" came te prompt reply, and the group turned collectively.

CJ was walking towards them, his Hydra hidden behind the giant airliner's bulk, "We ready to roll, homie?"

Sweet knocked a fist with his brother in typical Grove Street fashion, "Always, nigga."

CJ turned to the group, "'Kay y'all, Sweet's gonna fly the plane, I'm gonna handle the escort. Anythin' goes wrong, I'll have a radio frequency open. Once we touch down in Escobar, we'll be met with an escort that will take us to Mr Vercetti. Questions?"

Cesar shrugged, "What's the fuckin' hold-up?" he asked for the second time in the space of five minutes.

CJ grinned, "'Kay. Sweet, see if you can get that big piece o' shit to fly."

"No problem, bruthuh." he replied as the group headed over.

Escobar International Airport

Vice City

The lumbering AT-400 touched down, spotlessly, on the main runway of the coastal airport. The Hydra hovered in after it, taking up a parking space near the terminal. Several Rockstar Airlines MD-320 Skycruiser aircraft sat at the airport, some trudging down the taxiways for immediate departure.

The AT-400 slowed to a halt at one of the gates. Sweet powered down the engines and picked up the radio mic, "This yo cap'n speaking, we have arrived in paradise, y'all! Don't forget to check your luggage compartments, and give the pilot a bit of a compliment for his good flyin'." he chuckled as he turned off the radio.

Kendl entered the cockpit, "Nice flyin', Sweet."

"You think so?" Sweet asked, tiredly.

"Yeah. Shame you didn't come on down back. This thing is decked out like a politician's private jet, Sweet! And all you wanna do is sit up here in this cramped cockpit."

"Hey, as long as you enjoy the trip your way, I'll enjoy it mine."

"Whatever, man." Kendl muttered, exiting the cockpit. Sweet got out of the pilot's chair and followed her into the terminal.

Ken Rosenberg was jumping around like a mad animal, "God, this place hasn't changed! It's like a step back through time! I mean, I'm FINALLY gonna see Tommy again! I wonder how Avery's doing? And Earnest Kelly? What about Phil?" he dissolved into helpless giggles at the possibility.

Paul grabbed him on the shoulders and shook him, "Rosie, mate, be calm! Calm, dammit! We're all gonna see Tommy, mush, so just keep calm!"

Ken nodded, "Yeah. I'm calm. I'm calm, real calm, I'm Mr - fucking - Calm..."

CJ met up with them, "Everyone in one piece?"

The Truth tipped his head, "Man, that's the closest I've been to the aliens in AGES! When do we go back?" he asked, excited.

CJ rolled his eyes, "Not for a while, I think." he muttered as he led the group down the escalators and out onto the street. A pair of Stretchs sat on the kerb, several men leaning against them. One of them, CJ noticed, only had one arm.

Ken suddenly pointed at the tallest guy, who was wearing a Hawaiian shirt in ocean blue, "My god, that's him! And he's wearing that shirt!"

CJ, flanked by Sweet, Cesar and the crew, approached their new hosts as the tall guy, who had dark brown hair and eyes that had no doubt seen countless killings, stood upright. He was around Cesar's height, and Cesar was the tallest of the group from San Andreas.

The man spoke slowly, but with a tone of seriousness in his voice, "Welcome gentlemen... and lady." he added, noticing Kendl at the rear of the group.

CJ nodded, "Pleasure to be here."

"Welcome to Vice City." the man said, a bit louder this time, "My name,"

He scanned the group, his face lightening as he spotted Ken and Paul. He had missed the both of them, despite Paul's reputation as a sleazy wannabe criminal mastermind.

He finished what he was saying. "Is Tommy Vercetti."

That's all for chapter four. Hope you liked it. Don't forget: you can send in story ideas as we go along. This may become a long fic, so I want as much input and feedback as I can get.

A few notes:

a) I doubt that's the last we see of Zero, unfortunately.

b) Yes, we will get they guys back to San Andreas before the end of the story.

c) For those who don't know (which is probably nobody) Area 53 is the segment of WCTR that The Truth often phones into with weird things to say. He has a habit of pissing off the host, Marvin Trill.

d) No, I don't know how Woozie can shoot an AK either, but if he can street race you, then it's good enough for me.

e) I made up the name for those three-engined jets at Escobar, just for future reference.

f) Yes, I'm Australian. Don't shoot.

See you all in time for chapter 5!

Griddles


	5. Answers Only Bring More Questions

Yo guys! Great to be back, I can tell ya! For all those interested, I've done a bit of Manhunt research, so there'll be more references. However, I've decided to keep this game mainly GTA related, so we won't be hearing anything from Cash in this fic. Manhunt is actually illegal where I come from (Australia) so I won't be getting a copy anytime soon. Also, I'm gonna try and dig up some dirt about the American-Australian War Ammu-Nation keeps going on about...

In any case, we pick up where the last chapter left off...

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Answers Only Bring More Questions

CJ stepped forward to greet Tommy, rather taken aback by how average the guy looked. A man in his mid-thirties, with neat brown hair, a blue Hawaiian shirt and a muscular build. He didn't look like any crime-lord that he had met before. He expected Tommy to look more like Mafia crimeboss Salvatore Leone, smoking a cigar, rich and powerful, with a stare that could paralyse almost anyone with dread. But here stood this average-looking man, with his not so average looking group of friends.

One of them was a stocky man, with greying blonde hair. He looked like someone who'd seen hard times and fought for his nation. Most notably, his right arm was gone, or more precisely, the arm from just below the shoulder. He stared at the group members individually with his dark eyes, making his own personal assessment.

The second one was a huge, muscular man with long brown hair, beard and leather jacket. He looked imposing, standing taller than Vercetti by about a head. He had several tatoos on his arms and balled fists. A biker or something. He caught eye of Kent Paul and made a face that CJ couldn't quite determine.

The third of the four was an older man, average in height with a big moustache and slicked-back hair, which were both turning grey. He wore a Texan outfit complete with a large cowboy hat and stood there with his hands in his pockets. CJ recognised him from a billboard in Las Venturas, although he didn't know the man's name.

The last person CJ recognised instantly. Complete in his dark suit with red tie, Mike Toreno leant against the side of Tommy's limo, eyeing CJ with a look of interest, as though he was thinking up the next insane thing to make him do.

"Carl Johnson. Pleasure to meet you, Mr Vercetti."

Tommy nodded and accepted the handshake, "Please, call me Tommy. Thanks for coming by, I could use your help."

CJ nodded, "And us yours. I was wondering if you could tell me what the fuck is _going on_?"

Tommy chuckled, "Trust me, I'm as clueless as you. All I know is that we have to prepare for a possible war with this new power. Before we go anywhere, I'd like you to meet my partners in crime."

He pointed to the one-armed man, "This is Phil Cassidy, our weapons supplier and kill-crazy one-armed bandit. Trust me, I'm sure you'll get along fine."

"Good to meet yeh, son." Phil said with a distinct accent.

Tommy went on, "This is my trusted pal and devoted biker, Big Mitch Baker."

"Howdy." the brawny man growled.

"That's real estate tycoon Avery Carrington."

Carrington popped two fingers to his forehead and flicked them in CJ's direction in a quick salute.

"And I believe you know Mike?"

"You and him are friends?" CJ shouted in disbelief.

"We have been for two years, now." Tommy replied. "I'll fill you in on the way. Get in."

CJ's group managed to squeeze into the limos, Paul, Ken and CJ in the same one as Tommy.

"Tommy, mate, you dunno how fuckin' glad I am to see ya, mush. All this stuff has happened that you just gotta hear, mate. Me and Rosie, we been through some corker shit, mate, honestly. First, there was this trip into the desert with one of those weirdo hippies, right, and then when me and my pal Maccer woke up we-"

"Paul!" Tommy growled, "Shut the fuck up!"

Kent Paul fell silent, giving Rosie a chance to talk, "Tommy! Tommy, you dunno how fuckin' glad _I _am to see you. Much more glad than Paul here! Tommy, there's so much I gotta say-"

"And I'm sure I'll here it, Ken, but we gotta work stuff out, first." Tommy replied. He tapped the driver window behind him and said, "Back to the Island, Rick."

The driver nodded, and the limo took off. The other two limos were in close formation near it.

"So what's the deal?" CJ asked, "I hear that your status in the underworld is threatened. How, man?"

Tommy sat back in his chair, "A few weeks ago I got a letter from someone who didn't bother to put a name on it. They said that they were moving their organisation into Vice. They promised to cut me a slice of their action if, and only if, I surrender my position as the king of Vice and start doing their dirty work."

"Ain't gonna happen, right?" CJ asked, already knowing the answer.

"Right," Tommy chuckled, "so I replied to the address - somewhere up north - and said that I was not interested in their little business venture, politely I might add. Before I know it, I get a letter telling me that if I'm not willing to surrender Vice to them, then they're gonna come down here and take it from me. That's all I know, apart from the fact that they're going to arrive within the week and that they're most likely coming in force."

"So this is it, eh? Us, brought here by you, to defend your criminal empire?" Kent Paul asked.

"I'm down!" CJ declared.

"Anything for a friend." Ken acknowledged.

Paul sounded anxious, "So you're in! You're gonna help Tommy fight of some sorta faceless enemy just so he can keep his place at the top of Vice's underworld? Look how he started, mate! If he started with nuthin' and got here, why can't he do that again?"

"Because these people aren't like Sonny Forelli's men-"

"Forelli?" CJ shouted suddenly, remembering his dealings with the Forelli family, "You rolled on the Forellis?"

Tommy chuckled grimly, "I did. A _long_ time ago..." he neglected to mention his recurring dream about the day his war with Sonny came to an end. "I'm glad that I can count on _some_ people to help me out."

Paul just grumbled.

CJ thought it over, "So why'd you get Toreno to bring me here? How did you hear about me?"

Tommy chuckled, "Isn't it obvious? What you have done back in Los Santos was headline news here in Vice. I always knew the cops had it coming to them. So anyway, I let Toreno know I could use you, and so he set out to find you."

CJ frowned, "Toreno promised me I'd never hear from him again."

Tommy smiled as he poured several glasses of bourbon, "Government agents. They never keep their promises."

Paul chuckled in agreement.

"'Kay, fine. I'll help you out, but I'll need some form of payment." CJ told Tommy.

Tommy nodded, "You don't expect me to be strapped for cash, do you?"

CJ's eyes widened slightly at the expression, "I... er... I guess not, no..."

"Thing is, I could use a guy like you. And I believe that you could use a guy like me. If we work together on this, we could better both our futures." he held up a glass full of alcohol.

CJ held up his, "I'll drink to that, homie." he clinked glasses, drunk and kept asking questions, "Any ideas on who these guys are at all? Where they come from? Surely the postal address told you something, man..."

Tommy shrugged, "Nothing. Somewhere up in Michigan, I think it was..."

CJ was about to ask another question when his cellphone rang. He flipped it open and answered, "Speak."

"STUPID FUCKING IDIOTA!" screamed a fiery voice on the other end.

CJ rolled his eyes, "Catalina, seriously, FUCK OFF!" He sjnapped the phone shut.

"What was that about?" Tommy asked.

CJ grumbled, "Old... assosciate..." then he got back on track, "Is there ANYTHING you can tell us at all?"

Tommy shook his head, "I have no answers for you, CJ. Besides, the only answers I give you will just bring about more questions."

CJ grumbled. He hated a situation like that. Usually it was Toreno that kept Carl guessing, but now, everyone was. He sat back in his seat and swigged the wine, thinking to himself.

Was it possible that this organisation was the same as that which supplied the Los Santos Vagos with heavy weponry? If so, why did they disappear after nearly beating down on Cesar's gang, the Varrios? Could it possibly be the Mafia, out to get CJ and his friends after he robbed the Mafia casino, Caligula's, in Las Venturas?

Following the heist, Salvatore had sworn to kill CJ for what he had done. Was it going to happen? Was the Leone family staging an inter-state takeover? Last CJ had heard, the Leones had gone back to Liberty to sort out the issues they had with the few remaining members of the Sindacco family, now easily swayed thanks to CJ butchering most of them in a Venturas meathouse.

What was in Vice that they wanted so much? How did they know where to find Vercetti? No matter how many questions CJ asked himself, there were always more that came with each possible answer. Just as Tommy had said.

The limo came to a halt in front of a massive mansion on a small island in the middle of Vice City. The doors automatically opened for them, and Tommy stepped out, saying, "Welcome to your home away from home."

CJ got out and gawked at the massive building. It was at least three stories high, painted with a pink-brown colour and a dark-brown roof with red linings. It surpassed even Madd Dogg's mansion in impressiveness.

"How'd you afford this?" CJ exclaimed in awe.

Tommy chuckled, "I didn't. I acquired it off some old Columbian guy. Used to work for him, then he pissed me off. So I killed him and took over. You know how it is..."

CJ nodded. He actually didn't, as he hadn't killed somebody in order o take over a business, himself. Unless he counted the guy he almost killed in Liberty who wasn't paying him enough for export cars. Some guy named Joey...

The Truth exited the second limo and gawked, "Whoa! Major spike in good energy, man! This place is awesome, man!"

Tommy raised an eyebrow, "... thanks."

Woozie nodded, "Very nice place you have here, Mr Vercetti." he told him, paying a common compliment even though he was blind.

CJ watched the group enter, Kendl and Cesar hand-in-hand, Ken dashing up the stairs and inside as though finding heaven, and Woozie being guided up by one of his many assistants.

"I'll inform you of our plans later. Right now, get settled in and get to know the city. There's a chopper on the roof if you need it." Tommy told CJ.

"Cool. Later, homie." CJ wandered inside.

Tommy's limos drove off, Avery poking his head out the window, "Hope yer a good host, Tommeh!" he chuckled. The limos were supplied by Carrington Corporation.

Tommy turned and began ascending the steps. He heard a loud ringing and reached for his cellphone. Long ago had the massive, brick-like phones gone out of fashion. Tommy's new phone was smaller than his fist. Before he could speak, however, a voice cut him off.

"Get to the payphone at the airport freight bay." was all the dark, accented voice said. Then the line was cut on the caller's end.

Tommy's face paled. He hadn't received one of these calls in years. Why did the guy he called Mr Black want to give him another mission after so long? And why now, of all times?

Tommy pocketed his phone and turned to CJ, "I got some stuff to take care of. Get to know the guys, and I'll be back soon.

"'Kay, man, see ya soon." CJ replied, making his way up the steps at the front of the mansion. The Truth was ahead of him, his arms outstretched, no doubt feeling the positive energies or some whacked crap like that.

Tommy climbed into his white Infernus and streaked off down Starfish Island's main road, back towards the airport.

CJ watched him depart, before turning to head up the stairs. A red-haired man, the guy with only one arm, joined him at his side, "Son, I hear y'all stirred up a lotta trouble over in San An. Yeh think you're ready for Vice?"

CJ chuckled, "Man, we ready for anything, homie."

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Perhaps not the best of chapters, but it'll get better. I promise!

Feedback welcome, as well as possible story ideas. Also, my mother destroyed my copy of San Andreas recently, another of those Liberal anti-violence people. Surprised I lasted this long...

Anyways, I still have all I need to finish this fic and a couple of others. Have also managed to rent GTA3, so we'll definitely be seeing some more familiar faces soon...

Look out for Chapter 6 soon fellas!

Griddles.


	6. ViceGrip

Hey all! Good to hear you're still liking the fic. I've got some ideas in check, so we'll be going strong for a few more chapters before I gotta return to coming up with ideas.

Also, big thanks to E-Z B for his support with the loss of my game to my folks. Good to know others share my views, but just look at the many responses to media documents about the GTA series and you'll find tonnes more like us. I'm gonna keep trying to get it back, but it won't stop me writing this here fic.

This chapter's a long one. Let's get rolling then...

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Vice-Grip

"Awright, mate, this is the ULTIMATE place for a party. Y'know wot I mean, mush?"

Sweet rolled his eyes at Kent Paul's comment as he soaked up the upbeat environment of the Malibu club. "We had stuff like this in Santos, man. This ain't nothing special..."

Paul extended his arms in a gesture of innocence, "Aw, c'mon, guv, give this place a fair go, will ya? This place is the liveliest joint this side o' Little Haiti!"

"No thanks to you." growled a gruff voice.

Paul jumped six feet in the air, whirling at the sound of the voice. He immediately backed up against the bar as two tall men stared down at him, one of which Sweet had met earlier.

The one who had spoken, middle-aged with balding, greying brown hair, leant toward Paul, staring at him with an air of disgust in his gaze, "You didn't think I'd forget about you, did yeh?"

Paul shook his head, scared almost speechless, "N-No, Cam... seriously, mate, I'm n-not that hard to forget..."

The other man, the biker, hissed, "Yeah, you fuckin' right... I'ts hard for me to forget you runnin' out of the Chopper with your pants around your ankles..."

"Please, mate, not here..." Paul pleaded.

Sweet was laughing loudly.

Cam raised his fist as if about to throw a punch. Paul recoiled back, hands in front of his face in fear. Cam then wrapped an arm around Paul and noogied him on the head with his bony knuckles, "Ah, Paul! Life's been boring without yeh!"

Paul whined, "Yeah, yeah... great to see you too, mate..."

Sweet chuckled. Everyone liked Paul in some way, they just never said it. Even he thought Paul was good for a laugh on the odd occasion. Now was no exception. Just as he took a swig of beer, his cellphone rang. He flipped it open, "Yo?"

"You, bro, it's CJ. You better get over to the mansion, dawg, Toreno's about to brief us. Vercetti ain't here, though. Dunno where he coulda got to..."

"Dun worry, bruh, I'm sure he's handling his shit fine. I'll be right over. Kent Paul's in... excellent company."

Big Mitch Baker was currently pouring a bottle of wine over Paul's head in a personal joke.

"I'll see ya soon." Sweet hung up. He stood up, "Later, man."

Paul cried out, "Ey! Sweet, mate! Come back 'ere, I'm surrounded by evil, 'ere!"

Cam pounded his knuckles on Paul's head an laughed heartily. Sweet paid them no attention. He scooted out of the Malibu into his car, a Ferrari 512 TR, and headed west across towards the huge mansion on Starfish Island.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sweet emerged from his car and muttered, "What the fuck?"

Hovering above the estate were a pair of AH-64 Hunter helicopters. They appeared to be lining up in order to do something, but what it was Sweet couldn't tell. He wondered if Tommy was aware of their presence, but with the huge noise the two were making, it was unlikely that ANYONE on Starfish Island wasn't aware.

Sweet made his way towards the mansion just as one of the helicopters slowly descended toward the ground. It was landing in one of the large, open areas at the back of the mansion, it seemed, and the other one, still hovering, appeared to be lining up with another open area to the north of the estate.

What was the deal? Since when did military helicopters land on the grounds of Vice City's crimelord? It had only been five hours since the group had arrived in Vice, and already the impossible seemed to be happening.

Knowing that he'd no doubt get answers, Sweet headed up the large stairway and in through the large double doors of the huge house. People appeared to be dashing around inside, the majority of which were wearing multicoloured shirts.

Some were huddled in groups, asking about what kind of hardware they had, complaining about some girl who was giving them a hard time, and calling one of the guys 'Mario'.

"Sweet!" called Kendl from up the main stairway.

"Yo, sis! What the fuck is going down?"

"Why don't you get your sorry ass up here and find out!" she shouted back. Kendl was often harsh to her brother.

Sweet trodded up the stairs after her and entered the main room of the room, containing security camera images, a vault overflowing with cash, and several pictures of porn starlet Candy Suxxx in... all her glory.

Mike Toreno was also there, speaking with The Truth, Woozie and Ken Rosenberg. He spotted Sweet and smiled, "Ah! Come in, I'm sure you're willing to kill to know what's going on."

"The thought had crossed my mind." Sweet growled.

Toreno chuckled and walked into the centre of the room, "The two helicopters outside are our best chance at defending this place. There's no way we can bring in extra defences unless Carl heads back to Escobar and picks up the Hydra. So they'll have to do."

"You kiddin' me, man?" The Truth asked, "The site of those things outside'll scare the shit out of any Fed who comes too close."

"Present company accepted." Woozie added with a small grin.

Toreno nodded and went on, "In order to win whatever war might be thrown at us, we'll need all the help we can get. When Tommy gets back from whatever he's doing he's gonna try and get ahold of an old friend of his, a Spanish Colonel who fled the area a long time ago. He has his own army and stash of weapons, and will be a great asset to us. Meanwhile, I need each of you to find out as much as you can about whatever's going on. We need to know these fuckers before they throw shit at us."

Ken Rosenberg stammered, "B-But how do we do that? I have no real contacts anymore!"

Woozie spoke up, "I have a few Triad friends over Downtown. I might be able to glean some data off them. They're very well informed."

The Truth spoke up, "And I know a dude at the local golf course. Loves the place, can't get enough of it. He might know a thing or two, man."

Toreno smiled, "Good, that's a start. Sweet, if you see your brother at any time, I want him to meet me and Cesar at Sunshine Autos."

Sweet nodded, "Got it."

Woozie stood up. His ever-present aide took his arm as he informed the group, "My meeting with my associates will be taking place shortly. With any luck I'll have some information for you."

The Truth stood, too, as Woozie was guided out of the room, "I'll see if Dwayne and Jethro have found much out. They got some dudes at the Docks they had to catch up with."

Kendl turned to Sweet, "You know where Carl is?"

"I heard he was off grabbing some heat from that Phil guy. Dunno where they went, though."

Kendl sighed, "Sounds about right..."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Sweet yelled.

"You and your brother, ALWAYS obsessed with their guns!"

"Hey, at least we do all the dirty work while you sit back and have a good time with Cesar!"

"Leave him outta this!"

"Hey!" Toreno growled, "Chill the fuck out and get a grip! Either you go and help the others and get some leads, or you can head out with the guys and help unload the cargo from the Hunters."

Kendl glanced out the door, where one of the guys who worked for Tommy gave her a loud whistle of approval. She huffed, disgusted, and stormed out of the room, "I'm headin' over to the Autos..."

Sweet shook his head, "Man, she gotta put some more work down, or next time I'm leavin' her in Ganton!"

Toreno chuckled, "We need more competent minds on this, Sean. You never know, but you may just learn something from her."

"Bullshit..." Sweet grumped.

Toreno turned and stared southward across the back gardens of the mansion, over the sun-reflecting bubble canopy of Tommy's Bell H-13 Seasparrow, past the small boat dock at the south of the mansion and out across the bay. He could see a small bridge in the distance, linking Vice Beach with the Dock areas, various vehicles travelling over. He could also see a helicopter, a large and lumbering one, making its way toward the airport.

"Vice is lovely, isn't it? Even beats San Fierro." Toreno muttered.

Sweet huffed, "It's alright..."

Toreno stared out towards the slowly reddening sunset, and sighed. Then he asked himself, "I wonder where Tommy could have gotten to?"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Tommy's sleek, white Infernus pulled up at the freight depot of Escobar International Airport. It certainly wasn't as busy as the terminals, but it was still brimming with workers, baggage handlers and large, bulky Ford Benson trucks. It was the evening, so business was slowing down and many of the workers would be leaving shortly.

Amongst all the noise and clatter, Tommy could hear the sound of a ringing payphone as he stepped out of his fast ride. He soon found it, near a parked Boxville close to the fence separating the tarmac, where several helipads sat, from the road. Tommy approached it, casually. Surely, it would not look suspicious if he picked up. He clasped the handle of the phone and cursed to himself, noting that his hands were sweaty. Was he really that nervous?

He raised the receiver to his ear. Within a second, the same, familiar accented voice spoke into his ear from a mystery location.

"Good to speak with you again, Mr Teal. It has been a while, and yet, I know I can always turn to you for your services. Once again, they will be required. This is not old times, Mr Teal. This is business."

Tommy chuckled silently to himself, remembering Lance having said that to him the day he had betrayed him.

The voice, which Tommy referred to as Mr Black, went on, "My Empire is expanding. We need to gain our advantage over America and its allies. To do this, I will need your help, Mr Teal. Arriving shortly at your location will be a carrier helicopter. It contains ammunition and weaponry ready to be transferred to Fort Baxter. This cargo is not to make it to its desired location. You will kill all members involved in the transfer, and take the goods to the location taped under the phone."

With that, the caller hung up. Tommy slowly placed the phone on the hook. Another day, another assassination.

Tommy headed back to the Infernus and popped the trunk. From inside, he pulled out a PSG-1 laser scope sniper rifle, and a Stinger RPG unit. He managed to climb up on top of the Boxville parked by the phone, giving him a good vantage point for his weapons, and a good view of the nearby helipad, where two Army Patriot hum vees had pulled up. Four soldiers, decked out in camo and M-4 assault rifles, made their way onto the helipad.

Then, from behind him, Tommy heard the churning of huge helicopter blades slowly growing louder. He turned around.

"SHIT!"

He threw himself down onto his stomach as a huge helicopter whirled over his head, only metres from the top of the Boxville. The engine was so loud it was deafening and the downdrafts created by the helicopter's massive rotors almost sent Tommy flying off the top of the truck. Tommy grabbed onto his two weapons, trying to keep them from being blown off.

The helicopter, an Americopter US-101 Cargobob heavy lifter, touched down onto the helipad, its set of undercarriage sagging under the craft's great weight. Two more soldiers emerged from it, and greeted the Army men already waiting for them.

Tommy grabbed ahold of the sniper rifle and trained it in on who appeared to be the leader in the group of guys who had arrived in the Patriots. The two men from the chopper opened up the back of the colossal helicopter and began pulled out small, suitcase-sized crates, no doubt containing rifles of some description. At least a dozen were brought out before one of the guys closed up the rear of the Cargobob.

Immediately, Tommy fired his first shot. It went straight into the neck of the main Army guy, and he crumpled to the deck of the helipad. The other three could not react fast enough before Tommy Vercetti, probably Vice's greatest marksman since Phil Cassidy lost his arm, put a bullet cleanly into them. They all dropped to the hard surface of the helipad, blood pooling across their uniformed bodies and onto the surface of the landing zone.

Tommy then trained across towards the pilots of the Cargobob. But they had already clambered back inside.

"Oh, shit!" he cried as the massive beast whirred to life, its blades slicing through the air and creating another horrendously powerful downdraft. Tommy struggled to stay atop the Boxville as the Cargobob lifted into the sky. He reached across for the Stinger, ready to bring the chopper down.

It wasn't there.

The downdraft had knocked it off the truck. Cursing loudly, Tommy leaped off the truck and scrambled across the ground, looking for it. The downdraft slightly blinded him, but the helicopter was big and slow. He stumbled over the rocket launcher, lying near the centre of the road. He picked it up, slung it over his shoulder, and engaged its targeting system.

The crosshair appeared around the helicopter as it turned away. Its small rear rotor, built into the tail frame, would make a good impact point. The crosshair went from green to blood-red, and Tommy pulled the trigger. He felt the force of the launch shove him backwards as the rocket shot forth out of the Stinger's large barrel. It streaked upwards, towards the slow helicopter, which had no chance of escape.

The rocket flash and exploded with a red brilliance more impressive than the sunset behind it. The tail of the helicopter erupted into fiery shards, the loss of the tail sending the helicopter into a downwards spiral. Tommy watched it as an explosion tore out its engines, sending its five lethal blades spinning off in several directions. The main section of the helicopter plummeted to earth, slamming into a vacant area near Sunshine Autos. The force of the impact created another explosion, ripping through the Cargobob's body and tearing it apart.

Tommy lowered the Stinger and grinned. A plume of smoke was rising from the burning wreckage. A signature of his work. He climbed back onto the Boxville, retrieved the sniper rifle, and clambered back down. Depositing the weapons, he approached the now silent payphone. Hopefully, Mr Black would be happy with his work. He reached under the phone and pulled out a slip of paper. He read the writing:

**Vice City Junkyard**

Tommy slipped the paper into his pocket and climbed back into the Infernus. He drove along the road until he found the entrance to the tarmac, guarded by a boomgate. Charging through, the Infernus ploughed through the barrier and onto the tarmac. He had to be quick, because the bodies and the shot down helicopter would no doubt attract police attention.

He pulled up alongside the helipad and exited the vehicle. The loaded up Patriot was fresh for the picking, and Tommy wasted no time grabbing the ammunition and weapon crates and cramming them into his car. The trunk was already partially occupied by the Stinger and the rifle, so some of the crates were placed on the passenger seat. He only hoped there were no grenades in there, or else he would have a problem on his hands if he crashed the car.

Climbing into the Infernus again, he sped off northwards towards the junkyard and the drop-off point. Certainly one of the more interesting assassination missions, far cry from smashing up blonde women in their yellow sports cars, or killing pizzaboys while they made their rounds.

Tommy sat back in his seat and smiled. Life at the top sure wasn't boring...

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Toreno stared down at the two Hunters from the roof of the estate. The plans were going well. Starfish Island was now practically a no-fly zone except for aircraft he authorised from a small control room he had managed to set up downstairs. The sky was much darker now, the spotlights from over Downtown shining, the lighthouse rotating down on the cape, and the lights of many buildings shimmering in the distance.

It was certainly more interesting than the skyline in Fierro, the lights from the airport, the Gant bridge and from across the bay the only real highlights. At the moment, Toreno could see a helicopter drifting over the dividing water between Vice's two main islands, whilst a small Cessna Dodo trailed some sort of banner behind it as it flew over Leaf Links golf course.

Toreno headed over to the other side of the roof, staring out across Starfish Island to the north. He passed under the blades of the Bell Maverick sitting on the mansion's helipad and took in the scenery. Why couldn't the Loco Syndicate have set up here?

He saw a pair of headlights turn into the driveway and Toreno glanced down. He saw the headlights belonged to a white Infernus. Tommy's Infernus.

Toreno headed back downstairs, muttering, "About time, Tommy..." with a bit of a growl. The red carpeted staircase was soft under his footfall as he made his way into the main lobby of the mansion When he arrived, Tommy was already heading up the grand staircase.

"Where the fuck you been?" Toreno asked with a friendly laugh.

Tommy smiled and entered the main room. Some of the guys from San Andreas were sleeping in rooms on the bottom floor, so Toreno his voice low as he went on, "Things are happening, Tom, you gotta see them."

"Things are happening to me, too." Tommy told him, pulling off his Hawaiian T-shirt and slipping on a red shirt, "I think I might know who our faceless enemy is."

Toreno moved to within arms-length of Tommy, "Well? Go on, I'm listening."

Tommy sighed, "There's a guy who I used to do stuff for. Some foreign prick who sent me on assassination missions. I haven't received a call from him in 6 years."

"He called you, huh?" Toreno asked, quickly coming to the logical conclusion.

Tommy sighed, "Yeah. He sent me on another mission, to fetch some Army-grade weapons which were being transferred to Fort Baxter."

Toreno's eyes widened, "You didn't give them to him, did you?" he asked with a hint of anxiety.

Tommy nodded, "I did."

"WHY?" Toreno yelled, "You may be assisting in your own downfall!"

"And if I didn't give them the weapons? Then what? I'll tell you know, they would send guys down here, and they would know I'm not Leo Teal, the guy I pose as! I'd be effectively dead the moment he suspected anything!"

Toreno grumbled, "You prefer dead later to dead now?"

Tommy ran his fingers across the Colt Python sitting on his desk, "I'd prefer a fighting chance, Mike."

Footsteps echoed up the grand staircase, getting the attention of the two men. They turned as CJ ran into the room, frantic and short of breath, "Guys!"

Tommy stepped forward, "What is it, Carl?"

"Guys, I... I can hardly believe it myself... but... fuck!"

"What, Carl!" Toreno asked, trying to resist stepping forward and shaking the info out of him.

"It's... It's Woozie!" Carl managed to say, getting his breath, "He's... He's been... captured!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

End of Chapter 6!

Well guys, we're picking up the pace now. Hope you lot are enjoying it.

A few notes:

As you may have noticed, I'm referring to the in-game vehicles by their real name counterparts unless I cannot find them. For example, the San Andreas Infernus (not Tommy's) is an Acura NSX. Thus, it becomes an Acura Infernus.

The US-101 helicopter is the closest American design to the Cargobob. If anyone knows what the Cargobob is, American or otherwise, let me know.

A bit of fun for you, if you type the name of Sweet's car in a Google image search (Ferrari 512 TR), you will find yourself looking at a picture of one of GTA's most famous and long-lived cars.

The areas where the Hunters landed are those two striped bits of backyard behind the mansion which appear to serve no purpose.

Keep an eye out for Chapter 7, where the team have to rescue their good friend Woozie.

Peace, y'all!

Griddles.


	7. The Faceless Enemy

Yo guys! Good to be back, once again.

The ongoing war between parent and teenager continues, and neither side appears to be backing down. I am, however, receiving more than my fair share of threats from my parents, which could mean I'm on to them.

In any case, you're all wondering what has happened to Woozie, so why don't we get stuck into Chapter 7.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Faceless Enemy

Toreno stepped towards CJ, "How do you know this?"

CJ, still short of breath, managed to answer, "His... assistant... phoned me up and told me... he was taken someplace Downtown."

"Shit..." Toreno mumbled.

Tommy came forward, "Then we gotta do something!"

Toreno wheeled on him, "No! I want you to stay low. If this extraction means exposing you to whoever has taken Woozie, then I'm not going to risk it. Capiche?"

Tommy nodded.

Toreno smiled. Tommy always knew there was a time for action and a time for laying low. He liked that, "Go get some rest... unwind... do whatever. Don't worry, we'll handle things."

Tommy nodded. He had hoped to visit his old friend Umberto in Little Havana. He had the time, now.

Toreno exited the room with CJ and told him, "Get as many of the guys together as you can. I'm gonna try and find Phil. He should have the necessary firepower we need."

CJ nodded and Toreno took off down the staircase towards the entrance of the mansion. Reaching into his pocket, CJ pulled out his cellphone, dialed the number he often rang the most, and waited for an answer.

"Cesar Vialpando." came the response.

"Cesar! Glad I could reach you. Listen, man, Woozie's been captured."

"Fuck, no!" Cesar cursed, before yelling something in Spanish, or whatever other language he spoke.

"Yeah. Listen, I need you to round up as many guys as you can. I'm gonna try and get ahold of Sweet."

"Sweet's here, ese. We're down at Sunshine Autos. It's fuckin' hot stuff here, CJ!"

"No time for that right now, man, we gotta rescue Woozie."

"Okay, holmes, but where is he?"

"He's holed up somewhere Downtown. Meet us at the Downtown Ammu-Nation in an hour."

"Got is, ese. See ya there."

CJ hung up. The Truth and his surfer pals wouldn't do much good in a situation like this, and neither would Paul or Ken. Looks like it was up to him.

"Shit..." he mumbled, before heading outside to his awaiting vehicle.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Woozie coughed. The room in which he sat was smoky, like stale tobacco or something. Smell was probably the only sense Woozie hadn't hyper-developed to make up for his blindness, as he usually had his aide to point out the surroundings. Now, however, he was trapped in an unfamiliar environment with no assistance. Blind, helpless, and vulnerable.

He would have normally tried to feel his way around, try and map out the room in his mind. But his hands were tied behind his back and his feet were shackled to the chair he sat on, so that also was not an option.

He simply sat there, the world around him a mystery. Was he alone? Were there others? His excellent hearing picked up no sounds of breathing, apart from his own. As far as he could tell, the room was empty save for him.

The first main question popped into his mind. Why was he here? How did he get wherever he was? All he could remember was stepping out of his car at the meeting point, feeling a sharp pain in his back, before the world turned dark and he regained consciousness here. Being blind definitely had its disadvantages.

Was he being watched? Had he already been interrogated by people using some sort of truth drug that made him lose his memories? Woozie could barely think straight now, let alone try to remember what might have happened before. He tried to remain calm. He didn't want to lose all dignity by crying out for answers like so many people did in movies.

He didn't have to. At that moment, he could hear the sound of conversation somewhere outside of the room, and the telltale click of a doorknob being turned. He looked up as footsteps entered the room; at least two people by the sound of the erratic pattern. The smell of stale tobacco became stronger. The sound of a chair being backed up before sliding forward again, taking the weight of its new occupant.

The occupant spoke, his voice heavily accented with a tone unfamiliar to Woozie, "It is good to finally meet you, Mr Mu. You are no doubt wondering why you are here?"

Woozie nodded and calmly responded, "An answer to that question would be most appreciated, yes."

The foreign man chuckled. Woozie's jaw tightened as the man went on, "You are new to Vice, eh? It is quite obvious given that you walked into my trap. My assosciate here made sure that you would be made my personal guest at all costs. Isn't that right?"

"That's right." the second man said. He sounded possibly Columbian with the accent of an American. Perhaps someone from the south who had grown up in Vice his whole life.

Woozie coughed suddenly, the smell of the long-smoked drugs causing his lungs to ache.

The first man chuckled, "Sorry about the smell. One of my business partners is keen on his tobacco. I apologize if it makes you a bit... woozy." he paused at the joke, and then chuckled.

Woozie wanted the hell out of the place, so he got to the point, "Who are you? Why am I here?"

"All in due time, my friend." the mysterious man replied cheerily. "First of all, it is only manners that I introduce myself. I am Adrik Nicolai. I run a crime ring by the name of the Sovereigns. My assosciates and I have had many contacts across America. At last, our time to strike is now."

"What do you want from me?" Woozie asked.

Before he could get his answer, though, a third person dashed into the room. The smell of smoked tobacco became much stronger, and it was likely that the newcomer had a cigar of some description in his mouth.

"Hey, hey! Easy, motha-fucka, you don't expect to start the interrogation without me, didja?"

"My apologies, Mr Wilson, I was hasty."

"You fuckin' right you were..." muttered the newcomer, before drawing a breath from whatever kind of cigar was in his hand.

"My assosciates and I-"

"Hey, brother, c'mon!" complained the first cohort, "We got names, y'know."

"Unfortunately, they're both the same, so I do not wish to confuse myself. In any case, my friends here believe you are a close friend of a certain crimelord in this city?"

"More like... new acquaintences, but yeah, friends nonetheless." Woozie responded. Not much point in lying at this stage of the interrogation.

"Well then, I want to know where he is." the accented man demanded directly.

Woozie chuckled, "Uh, Mr Nicolai, I'm not in any position to disclose that sort of informa-"

Suddenly, a gun cocked and one of the guys grabbed his hair, forcing the barrel into Woozie's temple. It hurt like hell, but at least whoever held the pistol hadn't fired yet.

"Then I'll shoot you, you Triad piece of shit!" barked the voice of the first lackey, pressing the gun further against Woozie's skull.

"Don't!" shouted Nicolai urgently, "He is of great use to us! It would be a shame to waste such an opportunity!"

The subordinate growled, before releasing Woozie reluctantly.

"I see that you may not have been our best bet when it comes to gathering information, Mr Mu, however, this is Vice. These are troubling times." Nicolai huffed, "So, I want to know, why do you plan to help Mr Vercetti?"

"I merely have contacts in this city who have information on a mysterious group of individuals who are planning a city-wide takeover-"

"WE," shouted Nicolai, "are those individuals! WE are the people planning the takeover. The Sovereigns are the new gang in town. We have organisations set up around the world, ready to bring the Triads, the Mafia, the Yakuza, ANYONE... to their knees..."

"Even that buster CJ..." muttered the man identified as Mr Wilson.

"You know CJ?" Woozie spat.

Nicolai chuckled, "It seems we have hit the jackpot, here. Not only does Mr Mu here know about the Vercetti Syndicate, but also about the newcomers from across the country. Do not be alarmed, Woozie, we have been keeping track. I have many operatives on the field, monitoring your every move. I have several skilled individuals ready to make their move on Vercetti at just the whisper of a command, but the recent arrival of you and your friends makes my job so much more interesting. It's fun to be at the top. Don't you agree?"

Woozie was the Dai Dai Lo of the Mountain Cloud Boys Triad gang, and he often felt privileged to be in the position he occupied. "Yes, I agree."

"Then maybe, as the leader of your little... how do you put it?"

"Posse?" suggested the first man.

"Yes, yes... your posse. As the leader, you most likely know things others do not. You have seen things other haven't, heard rumours that may have eluded the ears of the lesser members. There is more to my plans than taking down Vercetti. Oh, yes. Far greater plans."

The chair he sat upon slid out, and Woozie could tell that Nicolai was now pacing about the interrogation room, "Too long the Russians have been under the spell and trickery of the United States. Too long has America founded alliances with other powerful nations; Canada, England, Australia-"

"America and Australia are enemies!" Woozie protested, remembering all too well the flamboyance of all those Ammu-Nation ads.

"Wrong, Mr Mu, wrong!" shouted Nicolai, "How little you really do know. They have always been friends. Always! Australia's Prime Minister, Keating or someone... America and Australia are on friendly terms, Mr Mu. The American-Australian War was just a cover-up for what America was REALLY doing! The war in Russia and Iraq... it is never-ending. And not since the 1960s when we shot down an American spyplane has an opportunity of this magnitude been available to us."

Woozie could hear Mr Wilson chuckling in agreement.

"Tell me, Mr Mu, have you ever heard of a government project known as..." Nicolai stopped pacing, "Aurora?"

"No. Never." Woozie answered hastily yet truthfully. He wondered if Toreno knew. Wait, stupid notion. Toreno knew everything.

"Really? Then you have absolutely no knowledge of a top-secret military installation in the centre of the the Las Venturas desert?"

Woozie gulped. Area 69!

"And you have no knowledge of strange noises over the desert? Odd rumbles over San Fierro? Strange lights in the desert sky? Tell me you have NEVER heard of these!"

Woozie was trembling. He wasn't the most easily shaken individual, but Woozie thought this guy was downright scary, "N-Never..." he lied.

"He's lying." growled the first man.

"Perhaps. Nothing a little Sodium Pentothal won't milk out of him..."

The door flew open, "Sir!" came the anxious voice of a man Woozie hadn't heard before.

"What is it?"

"A helicopter has landed atop Ammu-Nation. Our guards are being cut down! There are at least three of them sir, all armed."

Nicolai growled, "Well then..."

Woozie breathed shallowly as he heard the Russian terrorist leader approach.

"Let's finish this quickly."

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Cafe Robina

Little Havanna

"Tommy! It is wonderful to see you again, amigo!" the overweight and balding man by the name of Umberto shouted, rumbling toward Tommy and throwing his beefy arms around him.

Tommy sighed, "Yeah, hi to you too..."

Umberto released him and guided him into the Cafe, "Tommy, it has been a while. What have you been doing? Had you forgotten about the Cubans?"

Tommy rubbed his forehead. He was already regretting his decision to come here. "Believe me, amigo, you're one of the hardest people in this city to forget." It was true. Behind Kent Paul and radio issue-presser Maurice Chavez, Umberto was the most difficult person in Vice to forget. On the other hand, Tommy was having toruble remembering one individual in this city. He could remember a woman, wearing purple, who made a strange blend of tea, but that was it.

"Ah, that is good, Tommy, that is good. Papi! Some beer for my man Tommy." Umberto instructed he elderly father. Tommy kinda felt sorry for the guy, being bossed around by Umberto so much. He didn't look like he had another 5 years left in him.

Tommy sat down on one of the barstools, next to another Spanish-looking man who was heavily tatooed. He pulled up the beer served to him, and chugged down a large gulp. He was glad stuff like this could easily help him forget his miseries. Then again, Mercedes beat all when it came to that.

"Tommy, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. He is a hard working man, and believe me, he has BIG cojones!"

Tommy rolled his eyes. Did Umberto check to make sure that was true? Some seriosuly whacked shit if that was the case.

"Oh yeah? Who's this guy?" Tommy asked.

The man next to him turned to face him, "Me."

Tommy swiveled on his barstool, "You? Who might you be?"

The man, who had a thick moustache and a somewhat sleazy-looking gaze, chuckled, and introduced himself, "My name ees El Burro, of the Diablos. Eet is good to finally make your aquenntense!" the man had a thick accent, greater than Umberto's.

"Diablos, eh? Some kinda gang? How come I've never heard of you before?"

El Burro chuckled, "I haff come down from Leeberty. I am looking to eeexpand my empire and my gang. You know how eet ees?"

"What kind of empire? Narcotics?" Tommy asked, taking another swill of beer.

El Burro's gaze twinkled, "Eeexoteec."

Tommy almost choked on the beer, which seemed to take on a whole new, vile taste. He forced it down and chuckled, "I... heheh, I know a few places where you might find some success."

"That ees good. I like eet when there are peeeeople I can trust."

Umberto smiled, "Trust me, amigo, when you work with this guy for as long as I have, you won't want to trust anyone else!" he chuckled.

Tommy chuckled, uneasily. He seriously regretted coming here, now. His cellphone rang, and he glanced at Umberto, "Excuse me for a second."

As soon as he left the barstool, Umberto moved over and engaged El Burro in a rather manly conversation.

Tommy flipped the phone on, but before he could answer, a familiar voice spoke.

"Get to the payphone behind the Malibu Club."

The caller hung up, and Tommy's face drained of colour. He slowly turned to Umberto, still chatting with the Diablos leader. Umberto diverted his attention to Tommy just enough for Tommy to mouth the words 'I gotta go'.

Umberto nodded before turning back to his conversation.

Tommy sighed, and left the Cafe, his sparkling white Infernus ready and waiting, a group of white-shirted Cubans nearby having a loud talk. One of them muttered, "Any time witchoo, man...". Tommy slid into the Infernus's drivers seat and sped off, quickly snapping the car into a U-turn and barely avoiding clipping the front bumper of a passing '49 Cuban Hermes.

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

"Ey, ese, you got quite an aim for a secret agent!" Cesar shouted over sniper shots.

Toreno fired again, sending a bullet piercing through another guard's shoulder. "Why thank you, Cesar."

"Who are these guys?" CJ asked, AK in hand, "You seen them before?"

"Nah, man." Sweet replied, "I ain't seen those kinds of gang colours before."

The guards were wearing blood-red tops with blue overcoats or jumpers. They all seemed to be carrying Nines with silencers, not enough to reach the awkward position Toreno and the others were in, perched atop Ammu-Nation in Downtown, firing into a lot that had once been used to hide the stolen bike of Mitch Baker.

Cesar shouted over the loud bang of another shot from Toreno's rifle, "They look like the guys who were supplying the Vagos, man! We might have found the guys we've been looking for!"

"These are them? Shit! We gotta take them out, then!" CJ decided.

Toreno held his arm out, signalling him to stand down, "If you storm in there, they'll likely kill Woozie and screw up our chances of getting any kind of information from them. I'd prefer to wait and see what happens."

"How do you know he's not already dead?" Sweet asked.

Toreno shrugged, "I got a feeling..."

Suddenly, two guards emerged from the building. Toreno took aim at one, before a third person emerged from the compound. He pulled the laser sight off the guards and cursed, "Shit! They got Woozie!"

CJ raised his rifle, "I'm going in, man, I'm gonna finish these motherfuckers!"

"Wait a sec, holmes! I think they're gonna do something first!" Cesar interjected.

The two guards shoved Woozie to the ground in the centre of the lot, and to the shock of the four watching, simply turned around and headed back into the building!

Toreno nodded, "Now you can go down."

CJ and Sweet barrelled down the small set of stairs whilst Cesar and Toreno kept watch from up top. Woozie groaned as the two lifted the blind Chinese man to his feet, "Woozie! You awright?" CJ asked.

"Am... fine... please... get me outta here..."

"Will do, man. Toreno!" Sweet shouted, "Fire up the helicopter!" Sweet then turned his attention back to Woozie, "We're getting you outta here."

"What happened, man? Who were those guys?"

Woozie panted, "I think... we should wait until... we get back to the Estate... this is probably what you've been waiting for..."

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"Stupid Florida dickhead!" shouted Tommy as a 1965 Impala Blade lowrider pulled out in front of him, causing him to swerve. Sure, fixing the car at the local Pay 'n' Spray wasn't expensive, but he preferred to keep his own cars in good condition. Sure, if he had jacked it he wouldn't have cared, but his Infernus had been at his bidding for 6 years.

The Infernus sped along Ocean Drive up towards the Malibu. The Chariot hotel could be seen to the right, many lights on the frontal face of the building forming strange patterns. The Malibu was up ahead, the pink neons casting their glowing light across the road in all directions. Behind it, Tommy knew, would be the payphone linking him with the mysterious individual whom he suspected as the man threatening his hold on Vice.

Parking in the small carpark behind the Malibu where the employees (who generally drove Ford Mules and the like), Tommy stepped out of his sleek car and approached the payphone. As long as Black didn't know who 'Mr Teal' really was, then Tommy would be fine. Or so he hoped.

He picked up the receiver and listened.

"The time has come for you to prove to me how well you can do your job, Mr Teal. Today is the day you have been waiting for. I have been having a certain... disagreement with the crimelord of this city. His name is Tommy Vercetti, and he must not be allowed to live if we are to continue. Mr Teal, I am counting on you. If you succeed, you will be rich. If you fail..."

Tommy listened, his palm sweaty as it gripped the phone.

"...then you will die. Details of the whereabouts of Vercetti are taped under the phone."

Black hung up. Tommy slowly placed the receiver back on the hook and reached under the phone. A map of Vice was pulled out, and Tommy unfolded it. To his astonishment, his mansion had been marked by a large red circle in the middle of the paper, with arrows showing his regular movements, such as his regular trips to the Malibu, his stop-offs at Kaufman Cabs and his quickest route to Prawn Island.

"Someone's been watching me real closely lately..."

He folded up the paper and shoved it in his pocket. If he was going to do this properly without Black's men tracking him down and killing him, he would have to fake his own death during one of his trips. He grit his teeth, hoping someone back at the Estate had a good idea as to how he was going to do that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

End of chapter 7

Well, we covered a bit. Now at least we have some background on who the mystery man is. Also, his two accomplices are probably familiar faces to you, too. I dropped a couple of hints, feel free to take guesses in your reviews.

Ok, guys, see you around soon for chapter 8!

Griddles.


	8. Tommy's Last Ride

Well, I'm back. And about bloody time, eh? I've been busy with other works which I have been putting together, and as metalguru pointed out, some of my fics are on Bleedman's doujin forums. His art rocks!

In any case, we're back to this fic. We've got a while to go yet, and we've only got another two chapters in Vice before our team of heroes, hippies and the like head back to San Andreas.

Now to answer a question on my latest review, posed by MasklessDuckman. His question is: Why is Toreno working for Zero and Truth when he is trying to be secretive and Truth is kinda against him because Toreno works for 'the man'? Well, there's a reason for their partnership. Toreno faked his own death (for the second time) to trick the government into believing he was dead. He knew about the threats of the Cold War and how the Government was trying to cover them up. As if Australia nad America would ever have a war! So he made it look like his Shamal was shot down at CJ's airfield (in Toreno's Return). That is why Truth trusts him. He is more or less like Truth now: knows a lot about what is going on but despises those who cover it up. Hope that answers your question.

Onward! As you know, Adrik Nicolai and his accomplices want Tommy to kill someone... himself! Adrik is Mr Black, the odd guy who rings you during Vice City and gives you assassination missions and he thinks Tommy's name is Mr Teal. So, Tommy must attempt to fake his death, Toreno style, or end up making the situation much worse than it already is...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tommy's Last Ride

Vice City had changed a lot in six years. The industrial development of the city had boomed, and the city's skyline had gained a few skyscrapers over the years. Vice City radio had changed, too. A new station, 132.8 'Ghetto FM' was a station dedicated to the new breed of rap, hip-hop and gansgta music which had originally sprung up in the west. It was hosted by Mark "Boombastic" Belushi, and was a favourite amongst the Black American population of the city. VCPR, the Vice City Public Radio station, had long ago quit their Beg-athon as they had become sponsored by VCN, the news network of the city. Jonathan Freeloader and new radio identity Carrie Albertson were the hosts of VCPR news, a new addition to VCPR's schedule, much like WCTR news in San Andreas. There was also the looming loss of Flash FM, whose host Toni was considering moving north to Liberty City.

New real-estate had sprung up only to be quickly nabbed by Avery Carrington, whose apprentice Donald Love had already headed north to Liberty to begin his own company, a media organistation.

But one thing that hadn't changed in Vice, Nicolai knew, was the fact that the criminal underworld of the Florida city was still overlorded by the great Tommy Vercetti, who owned many major companies, including a taxi firm, the ice-cream company, a boatyard down at the docks, and even the city's best strip club. Nicolai wanted that to change, for the good of his great nation of Russia. He wanted Tommy dead, and knew Teal would succeed in eradicating him. Teal had never failed before. But it was not only he that wanted Tommy dead. His partner wanted him out of the picture too, a personal vendetta still burning inside him after six long years of waiting. Now, he would have his vengeance finally. He only wished he could kill Tommy himself.

"No," Nicolai had told him, "I don't want to risk you, you are too valuable to me and my operation. Mr Teal shall handle it."

So that was that. Nicolai needed his assosciate for other, bigger things, and the Sovereign hierarchy meant that Nicolai could send the lower-downs to carry out assassinations. Nicolai had a good view of Vice City from where he currently stood, atop the huge WK Chariot hotel. The hotel didn't have a proper rooftop lookout, so Nicolai had to access it by helicopter. The massive building provided views across the whole city, from Washington beach at his left, Viceport across the central bay in the south, Escobar Airport near that. Ocean beach was in front of him, and Vice point to the near north. Downtown, Little Havana and Little Haiti were ahead of him to the north, and the weather was typically sunny, giving him perfect visibility. To his eyes he raised his high-powered Russian military issue binoculars, one of his remnants of the Cold War. He had fought for Russia. He had wanted to give his life for his nation on multiple occaisions. But last year it had ended. Russia was born when the USSR disbanded. Nicolai knew why. The Americans. The British. Those who did not see their terms. Nicolai knew that the power of the USSR was still there, and what it needed was a tipping of the scales. And Nicolai knew how to do that.

Bringing his binoculars to his dark eyes he focused down upon the large, oval island in the middle of Vice's bay. Starfish Island was one of the three smaller islands in the Vice Bay. It was also the largest, with Prawn Island and Leaf Links quite a bit smaller in area than Starfish, which was home to some of the largest, richest, fanciest estates and mansions in Vice. Almost every house that had access to the water had a boat mooring, and nearly every house had a swimming pool of some kind. But one house was in Nicolai's sights and had been for some time. The estate that occupied most of Starfish Island's southern edge. The massive, multi-storey monolith that was larger than any other property on the island by far. The Vercetti Estate.

"I wanna blast that building to the ground." growled Nicolai's assosciate, the very same one who had wanted to take out Vercetti personally.

"You may get your chance. I have sent an agent into the Estate to gather intelligence, but I have not heard from him." Adrik Nicolai responded, his accent heavy, "Probably he dead," he added, his grasp on the English language not his strongest point, "It shows us that Vercetti's security is tight. Mr Teal is a skilled hitman, he will do the job."

"All while working as a chef at a club or something?" his assosciate mused. "Damn, he must be good..."

Nicolai chuckled, slowly moving to the helicopter waiting behind them, "The assassination is due at 9:30 tomorrow morning." he noticed the sun slowly setting behind the slums of Little Haiti, "We shall retire for the evening. Come my friend, you fly."

"Damn, holmes!" Cesar beamed, "This place is the SHIT!"

Toreno smiled, "I dunno why you're telling me... this ain't my place." he muttered, his own ranch allegedly destroyed.

CJ strolled along one of the paths at the back of the massive mansion, the gardens full of lush green trees, fresh scents and at least five shallow square pools of clear water. It was almost paradise, and it was hard to imagine that it was owned by a criminal ruler. Himself, Cesar, Mike Toreno and Sweet were slowly ambling along through the mansion's backyard, across the stone walkways toward the central area, lined by four pools of sparkling water, a clean and well-kept Bell Seasparrow sitting in the centre, at the ready. Woozie was out in one of the side fields, his Triad colleagues inspecting one of the AH-64 Hunter helictopers assigned to this mansion by Toreno as defence. Several men in Hawaiian shirts stood nearby, discussing what hardware they had and arguing over one of them, who claimed not to have asked another of the guys' sister out on a date.

CJ heard a soft, almost moaning noise, and glanced down toward the rear dock of the house, where The Truth stood meditating, staring out at the beautiful view to the south. CJ shook his head, easily the first one to admit Truth was crazy. Beyond him was the tranquil Vice Bay, the view extending far beyond the Viceport bridge, past the marina and the boatyards toward the sea. A couple of private Tropic yachts were softly cruising across from the marina northwards toward Vice Point, whilst a Jetmax super speed boat tore its way out of the boatyards, screaming toward the run down coastguard huts out near the south of Washington Beach. Several gulls flitted overhead as a mild easterly blew, making the tall palm trees rustle. CJ almost sighed. This was far from the ghettos of Los Santos. He almost wished he didn't have to head back. But the 'hood needed him.

Toreno glanced around, "Makes you miss Playa del Seville, eh?" he asked Cesar, the Varrio territory close to Los Santos' southern shores."

"Seville always has a place in my heart, man. But this place is COOL!" Cesar replied.

Toreno chuckled, "Well, it's a nice place for headquarters."

"How much did this place cost?" asked CJ in astonishment as he heard a helicopter's whirring engine, the three looking up to see a large Bell Maverick slowly hover in for a landing on the mansion's rooftop helipad.

"Oh, this place wasn't bought. Nup, too expensive for Tommy to buy and redecorate. He acquired this property when he killed its previous owner, a drug baron, the best in Vice. Then, he managed to get protection from local parties and since then this estate has been shaping up well. Tommy hopes to have a rooftop balcony pool installed up at the rear there." Toreno pointed toward the centre rear roof, facing the south.

CJ muttered to himself. Everything he owned, except for his garage in San Fierro, he had bought himself. He made money out of several businesses, but by the sound of it practically owned half of Vice. Vice was almost the size of San Fierro, and Fierro was a large city. CJ wondered where Tommy would take over next, just as he realised something, "Hey, man, Tommy ain't back yet!"

"Yeah, where is he, holmes?" asked Cesar, just as a passenger jet roared over their heads, on descent into Escobar International.

"Calm down, he'll be back soon. Besides, he needs to make plans for our departure back to San Andreas." Toreno smiled.

"We're goin' back?" CJ sounded surprised.

"Well, yes. You see, we captured one of those Sovereign boys snooping around the grounds of the estate the other day. Woozie exercised his interrogation techniques upon him, learnt off a long-dead accomplice. He talked, believe it or not. Turn out the Sovereigns are all patriotic Russians trying to restore the USSR to power. Nicolai, their leader, used to be an Army general who worked for a secret service which specialised in co-ordinating assassinations. He quit in disgust after the fall of the USSR, but his skills are now being used against all of us." Toreno spoke in a dark, serious tone, "He knows Russia will not turn back time and become the USSR. However, Nicolai aims to obtain the most powerful military units in the world and terrorise all of America into agreeing to their terms."

Cesar growled, "Mierda..."

"Woozie mentioned Aurora. Nicolai might be after Aurora..." Toreno mused.

"What the fuck is Aurora?" CJ huffed.

Toreno grinned, "That's classified."

"Motherfucka..." CJ hissed.

At the rear balcony, a tall, scruffy man wearing a cowboy get-up walked out, and called down to them, "Hey there, sons, y'all better get 'round the front! Tommeh's back and he got news!"

Toreno shared an excited glance with a rather uneasy CJ, before setting off at a run toward the front of the mansion. CJ shook his head and sighed. Cesar chuckled, "Ey, chill out holmes. We mightn't know shit, but Tommy might. This whole thing could be over soon, ese. We just gotta wait and do what we can."

CJ rolled his eyes, "Can anyone remember when we used to be street racers?"

Cesar merely laughed.

Tommy cursed as he got out of his Infernus, just as Avery Carrington and Phil Cassidy came down the front steps of his mansion to welcome him. Tommy shut the car door behind him as Avery approached, "Had me worried about yeh there, Tommeh, what's happ'ning?"

"Gonna go kill myself, that's what."

Phil gaped, "Say what?"

Tommy gave a small grin, "I got another phonecall from that Russian prick. This time, he wants me dead."

"You?" Avery asked, before muttering, "Hmm, makes sense... 'specially if he wanted to get ahold of this mansion."

Tommy sighed, "Avery, he's not after the land, this guy wants me out of the way cos he wants to expand his empire into Vice, and possibly interstate. This guy wanted those weapons off the army and sent me to shoot down that chopper and get the goods. Now he wants me, Vice City's top crimelord, out of the way. That can only mean one thing."

"He's planning an invasion of Vice..." Phil muttered. Tommy nodded gravely.

There was a puffing noise and Tommy turned to see Toreno, slightly out of breath, standing behind him, "Any news, Mr V?" he asked.

"I told you, stop calling me that. And yes, there's news. I somehow gotta fake my death."

Toreno almost laughed, "You're kidding me, right?"

Tommy shook his head, "The guy phoned again, he wants his would-be assassin to take me out. He wants me off the top, Mike, and he's gonna see to it that it is done professionally."

Toreno's gaze darkened, "He wants you dead, he gets military-class weapons, and he wants Aurora... it's beginning to make sense now..."

"Do enlighten us." Phil grumbled.

Toreno growled, "Can't tell ya much, but the way I see it, I think we're in a bit of trouble here. This isn't just some wannabe gang of patriotic Russians, oh no... they're a serious group of aggressors, possibly with military ties or backgrounds. And they're wanting to take America apart, piece by piece."

"The guns and wanting to kill Tommeh I understand," Avery told the CIA agent through his grey moustache, "But what does this Aurora business have to do with anything?"

Toreno looked almost upset, "I'm sorry but I can't tell you that."

Tommy growled, "Dammit Mike, if we're gonna survive this a little secret knowledge won't hurt."

Toreno sighed, "Ok, fine, but this is between us, ok?"

The three older men nodded.

Toreno sounded nervous, but persisted, "The Aurora is a-"

"Yo, man!" came a voice, making the men jump and look up. Standing over them, looking down from one of the balconies, was the Truth, his eyes staring at them in their weird hippy way, "This a private conversation?"

"Yes, so if you don't mind..." Toreno muttered through clenched teeth.

The Truth smiled and walked away.

"Dude, that guy is crazy..." Phil mumbled.

"As I was saying," Toreno went on, drawing their attention again, "Aurora is a highly guarded-" he was cut off by a ringing noise and Tommy cursed, reaching into his pocket. Toreno fumed at getting cut off a second time. Tommy hit the phone's answer button and held it to his ear. Before he could even open his mouth a familiar, chilling voice rang into his ear.

"Mr Vercetti has just arrived back at his mansion Mr Teal. You have until dusk to eliminate him, or our plans will have to change." the caller hung up, and Tommy shivered.

"Our little friend?" asked Toreno.

Tommy merely nodded. "He wants me dead by dusk."

Toreno growled, "Damn..."

"Holmes, we can help with that." came Cesar's voice from the same direction Toreno had approached from. He was standing with CJ, by the Infernus, light reflecting off his gold varrio pendant hanging from his neck. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans.

"How do you propose to do that?" asked Tommy, grumpily.

"Well, ese, we still have the body of that Sovereign vato, yeah?"

"He's where we left him, lying in his own blood." Toreno muttered. Suddenly, a grin spread across his face and he laughed, "You Latino bastard, you're a genius!"

Cesar blinked, "I haven't even thought out my whole plan yet!"

Toreno cackled in personal delight, "I've done it for you! Quick, we gotta get to work!" he motioned for Cesar and the silently puzzled CJ to follow him into the mansion, the CIA operative tearing up the front steps. Avery blinked. Tommy chuckled. Phil merely stared.

"... the fuck was that about?" asked Phil.

"Feds, man, they're all the same." came the Truth's voice as he stood atop the balcony railing, staring across to the norht, his arms wide in meditation.

Tommy suddenly realised that following Toreno was a good option.

Nicolai focused his binoculars on the group of men outside of the mansion. The large group was slowly heading indoors, whilst someone who looked like either a hippy or a fisherman was standing on the balcony in some sort of statue pose. Vercetti had some very strange accomplices. It would bring good prestige upon Leo Teal if he could eliminate them all. It would make his job easier. As he stared down upon Starfish Island, his right-hand man growled.

"Stupid Tommy, forever finding ways to stay alive. I'm surprised he has lasted this long! I almost had him that day..."

"If Mr Teal fails, my friend, I promise you your chance. However, Mr Teal has not failed me in the past, so this situation is likely to be no different."

The dark-skinned man hissed, "Do you have ANY idea what you are saying?" he scorned, "I used to work with him, I know his mansion inside out, and I have every reason to go in there with an M-60 and do it all myself!"

Adrik chuckled, "Patience, my friend. You see, Mr Vercetti is unlike my previous... victims. He is Vice City's number one, and will not be easy to get rid of. There is a high chance that Mr Teal will fail in his mission, which means we will have to commence plan 2 while Vercetti is still a factor. No matter. The Ghost will make short work of Vercetti. And with you controlling such a machine, you can guarantee precision in his eradication."

The man chuckled in anticipation.

Nicolai lowered his binoculars, "They have gone inside. Mr Teal will have difficulty targeting Vercetti from within the mansion. However, the 'hands-on' approach has always been his specialty, so perhaps we can rely on his inventiveness."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I would not be surprised if I see a plane get dropped on that mansion." Adrik chuckled.

The black man glanced over his shoulder, his navy-blue and red suit matching the colours of the Sovereigns. He had joined to get his vengeance upon Vercetti, and to share in the spoils once Nicolai's plans reached fruition. He would be one of the most powerful men in the world, with weapons of mass destruction at his disposal. And yet... he had plenty of that already. As he stared out to the eastern sea, out toward the Atlantic, he saw the familiar dark shape sitting in the water. Okchabursk...

"We shall wait here. Dusk will come soon. We shall see if Mr Teal is truly as skilled as I hope he is."

"I'll head back, I gotta get me some food." the black man told the aging Russian.

"Very well, Mr Vance. And tell your Los Santos friend that if he can truly secure vehicles from the Fierro and Santos gangs, that I will need them shortly. I will remain here to monitor the mansion." Adrik brought the binoculars back to his eyes, his once blonde hair showing signs of grey.

Lance Vance turned around and headed to the small four-seater helicopter, destined to take him back to the dark shape in the ocean nearby...

Cesar thumped the corpse with his shoe, "Fuckin' vato. He got what he deserved..."

Tommy folded his arms and stared down at the dead man, "So... this is a Sovereign... doesn't look so tough..."

"He was." Cesar told him, "Woozie's boys subjected him to all kinds of crazy shit to get information out of him. He eventually talked, and we got a bit of info. Then Su Xi shot him, holmes, the guy was swine."

Tommy growled as he examined the body. The man was young, perhaps early-thirties, as opposed to Tommy who was nearing his 43rd birthday. He had short brownish hair and he was slightly muscular. He looked like he had been intensely trained, and if he was a Russian ex-soldier then that certainly would have been the case. He looked rather normal, despite being apparently tortured, and his face showed not even fear as he had been shot. Tommy cursed silently. If this was a low-brow grunt for these guys, imagine what the top brass were like...

These guys weren't like the Northern Street Sharks that hung around Vice Point and Prawn Island. They weren't the slum-ridden Haitians who shot anything that moves on sight. Hell, they weren't even like the Cubans! These guys were professionals, possibly more elite than the Vercetti Mafia. And they wanted Vercetti out of the way and Vice City in their fingertips. Tommy growled. Mightas well just surrender now...

"What was your plan?" CJ asked.

Tommy gave a small grin, "This guy looks about my size... will he fit into one of my shirts?"

"What kinda question is that, holmes, this ain't a fashion show!" Cesar grumbled.

Tommy chuckled, "No, no... You see, this Mr Black guy (what did Woozie call him? Nicolas or something?) obviously can see us from a distance, through binoculars or something, so he'll be monitoring the activities of this Estate. So why don't we make it look like I died? Make it look like Mr Teal did his job?"

"Mr Teal? Your codename is fuckin' Mr TEAL!" CJ blurted.

"Shitty, I know... I punched that bastard's lights out when I met him and nabbed his phone. He didn't put up much of a fight. I'm probably giving that old prick a good name... I almost wish Kent Paul hadn't told me about him. I mightn't be caught up in this mess..."

"Still, holmes, we have the chance to put this dickhead out of action for good!" Cesar encouraged, "Toreno's got the info, ese, all we need is some firepower and a bit of deception, man. Easy as shit."

Tommy hauled the stiff up and supported its weight over his shoulder, "We have an old Top Fun van in the garage, which may come in handy. Never thought I'd need it, but if this goes to plan, this will be a great way to fake my death."

"With you, man. For sure." CJ confirmed.

"Ready to make some fireworks?" Tommy asked.

"Does the Pope shit in the woods?"

"Does the... what?" Tommy asked.

CJ and Cesar shared a chuckle, "Come on, let's do this."

Starfish Island's palm trees slowly blew about in the afternoon breeze, softly wafting in from the south, its humid gusts washing over the island, often responsible for the large power bills many of the mansions on the small clump of land clocked up due to excessive use of air conditioning. As the wind blew, the water lapped at the sides of the island. The island's history was often debated, as some believed it was artificial whilst others thought, like Prawn Island, it was a large slab of flat land with no real beach. A small Speeder boat slowly knocked against a wooden wharf on the northeast side of the island, as a pair of Reefer boats sidled past, a Marquis yacht in the distance floating in the centre of the bay. Vice City was the part capital of the USA, but that mostly happened on the east island. As soon as you crossed those bridges, the party atmosphere died away, tranquility in the centre of the city and the busy and sometimes dangerous life of the west beyond that. Starfish Island was caught in the middle, which was why security guards patrolled its wide streets, wary of any Voodoo or Cuban Hermes that may cross onto it.

Seagulls slowly circled high above, occaisionally dipping down to the water's surface for a fresh fish. Overhead a police helicopter patrolled, its rotors beating through the air, its sound slowly fading as it crossed over Little Havana. Tommy Vercetti's mansion stood tall amongst the peaceful atmosphere of the sometimes violent city. In front of the mansion, upon one of the balconies to the side of the main entrance, was a satellite tracking antenna in the early stage of construction, Tommy's hawaiin-shirt workers slowly assembling Toreno's new device. But the main work was not outside, but within the garage, as more of Vercetti's henchmen poured over what appeared to be a regular Rumpo van. They tore up the inside of it, leaving everything but the driver's chair and main console as they began to refit it for its up-and-coming, and only mission.

Tommy had faith in his men. They had once been Diaz's henchmen, Colombians mainly, selling and shipping the coke to all ends of the Americas. After losing their influence in Vice, the Colombians had gone north to Liberty, and therefore out of Tommy's life, making things much easier. There was no retaliation on the Colombians' part for Ricardo Diaz's death, which had benefited Tommy in his rise to the top, and had granted him the lifelong gratitude of an old Spanish colonel who had long left Vice City. Vercetti sat back in his armchair, in the office of his mansion, a safe full of cash sitting nearby. He had all he ever needed. All he wanted now was to pass on the legacy. But was he too old to have children? Maybe he would elect a successor instead...

"Gentlemen... I'll be dead soon." Vercetti grinned as he spoke to the assembled group of colleagues and San Andreas visitors. "We need to make it look as though I'm dead, and that my empire is crumbling. Otherwise, the Russians may discover our secret..."

Wu Zi Mu nodded, "If we cannot... perfect this deception... then we might not achieve anything from this stunt."

Sweet growled, "We gotta be clean-cut, make sure NOBODY can doubt that he's dead, man."

"How we gon' do that?" asked CJ asked.

Tommy grinned as Toreno, nearby, chuckled to himself, "Phil has that covered. Let's just say that I don't want to go near that Rumpo van."

CJ muttered to himself. Why couldn't he get ANY straight answers from that guy?

"A team of three of you will head out to the Viceport bridge in the Jetmax out the back. From this boat you will be our sentry party, ensuring that we can execute this perfectly. Once the van has reached a safe distance from the island, you are to detonate it using this," with a slight 'thwip', Toreno produced a small remote, "controller."

He handed the controller, remarkably, to Sweet, "The fuck you want ME to do this for?"

"We want you out of harm's way." Toreno told them, "Yourself, CJ and Cesar."

"Hey, what the fuck about ME?" Kendl cried furiously.

"You will be safe," Toreno assured, "We will be flying you out by helicopter to a condo which Tommy owns Downtown. Yourself, Woozie and The Truth will be the first to leave. We need to lock down the Vercetti Mafia once we head back to San Andreas and stop this madness."

Kendl threw her arms up in disgust, "If Cesar's stayin', I'm stayin'!"

Toreno's gaze hardened and his voice took on a serious and grave tone, "Kendl, the decision is final. You are to leave immediately. Others will follow. There is no chance for debate. We must act. Now."

Kendl sighed. No use arguing.

"The sun will go down in under an hour, we'll have to make this work soon, or who knows what will happen. If those Russian pricks come here and try to tear apart my mansion in search of me we're gonna be in deep shit, so I need you all to concentrate and this will work. CJ, Sweet and Cesar, get down to the boat. Toreno and I will stay here, Woozie and Phil go down to check upon the van. Dwaine and Jethro should be nearly done refitting the van. We begin immediately." Tommy stood up, "Let's make my death a good one, eh?"

The group chuckled.

Toreno nodded, "To your duties then. We're free to proceed as we wish once these fuckers think Tommy's dead. The sooner the better. Let's do this."

CJ grabbed Sweet's outstretched hand, "Let's do this, homie!"

"Ready as always, nigga." Sweet affirmed.

Cesar merely watched them exchange homie love, that kind of friendship expression not practiced in the Varrios Los Aztecas. They preferred to not let a close-knit relationship format get in the way of their gang's intentions. After the rise and subsequent fall of the Vagos influence in south Los Santos, the Varrios were committed to keeping their turf under their turquoise thumb. His hood was in good care thanks to his veteranos. Once Sweet and CJ had ceased their fiving, he spoke, "Anyone here know how to drive a boat?"

"I can." CJ stated, remembering his brief spell at boat school in Bayside, north of San Fierro.

"Ok, let's make this happen, man!"

As the team slowly dispersed, Toreno turned to Tommy, "Ya reckon we can pull this off?"

"I wouldn't be alive if I ever doubted myself and my colleagues, Mike. Besides, aren't you the government agent who believes that you can, or can order someone to do absolutely anything?"

Toreno stifled a laugh, "Usually. But the thought of Russians getting their hands on one of America's greatest strategic weapons just terrifies me..."

"You too?" Tommy chortled.

Toreno shrugged, "We're only human, Tom. Come on, let's see if this uplink works. If Nicolai calls us, we can relay it to all teams. Let's give it a shot, eh?"

"You may be pissing yourself with fear but you're still useful Mike."

"Aw, gee, you're making me blush..."

The Jetmax peeled away from the stone wharf at the rear of the Vercetti mansion. It was a maroon and gold Cuban Jetmax, provided by the boatyard Tommy owned in conjunction with his Cuban friend Umberto, who had several boats of his own. It was a fully open-top boat with a small glass windshield to prevent spray from leaking into the cockpit. CJ sat himself down in front of the control panel, which had a small yoke for steering and several flashy instruments, a couple of which were digital. The Vercetti Shipyard was getting its hands on all kinds of technology, and Dwain and Jethro claimed to have worked there once.

Sweet sat down on the right-hand-side, the side facing southward toward the ocean and the Viceport bridge, a large bridge spanning between the entrance to the Docks and the Ocean Beach hospital. Several cars crossed over it, including a dark blue securicar no doubt filled with spare parts destined for export at the Docks. Cesar clambered into the back leather seat, which was more of a bench, a single wide seat spanning the rear of the boat's little cabin. Behind him was the boat's massive engine, the jet motors within able to propel the boat at a high speed across the bay. CJ had his own Jetmax in Bayside, but he seldom used it.

Sweet held in his hand the controller Toreno had bequeathed to him. It contained a single button, a remote detonator. Sweet knew of the plan but was surprised to be taking a lead role. Cesar and CJ carried MP5's as protection from anything that could come in their way. Cesar also carried a wireless transmitter and speaker which was linked to Tommy's office in the mansion. The engine fired up and CJ tore away from the small jetty, the boat pitching around to the right so far that Sweet barely stayed in his seat.

"Shit, man, what the fuck's wrong witchoo?" Sweet howled over the roar of the enginge behind them.

CJ merely laughed. He was enjoying himself fully.

Cesar was hanging on a little more easily than Sweet as he felt the salty spray against his face. El Corona and Playa del Seville were near Los Santos' south, but that area was full of cliffs. The nearest pier was at Santa Maria beach. Balla territory.

The Cuban Jetmax swept through the pristine waters, past several clumps of rocks sticking up from the relatively flat-bottomed bay. The rocks caused problems for some of the larger boats, and were very dangerous to the ocean tankers and liner which sailed into Viceport each day. Thankfully, the Viceport bridge was low enough that no boat bigger than a yacht could get through. The boat accelerated further, the distant bridge swelling in size in front of them as they approached. A police convoy, perhaps having seized an illegal shipment of some description, was escorting a SWAT Enforcer along the bridge to the east, no doubt heading toward VCPD HQ in Washington Beach. The Jetmax sliced through the bay, CJ making out what appeared to be a marina on the left beyond the bridge, where several yachts were moored.

As the bridge grew closer CJ brought the Jetmax around in a tight circle and cut the power, the boat's friction against the water slowly slowing it. As it turned, Starfish Island came into view again. They weren't all that far away, as Sweet could easily make out a bright red Banshee convertible zipping its way over the west bridge of the island into Little Havana. Cesar flipped on the transmitter he carried. All they had to do was wait. CJ wished he brought a STINGER rocket launcher. Those babies had enough range to accurately hit something from half a mile away. And there were plenty of police patrol boats floating out there...

"Maybe if we get enough pay outta this we could set up a couple of properties over here. Maybe expand the hood a bit, y'know?" Sweet suggested.

CJ, who was never over-serious about Grove Street Families, shook his head, "Nah, man, with all the shit that's fucked up in Los Santos, dishing the homies more trouble here will be too much for 'em. C'mon, bro, the hood's got enough to handle as is."

"It's a great place, ese, but not the kind I'd like to stay in for too long." Cesar noted.

CJ chuckled grimly, "Ain't nothin' like Liberty, though... that shithole is seriously fucked up, man, people kill simply cos they can."

"Ain't that normal?" Sweet asked.

"Well, yeah, but y'know, Liberty's a big city and when it comes to-"

The communicator Cesar held suddenly chirped, before a familiar voice came over, "Mother Hen to Eggs, Mother Hen to Eggs, do you read?"

"Toreno, shut the fuck up with that codename bullshit, I'm fuckin' tired of it!" CJ barked.

Toreno chuckled, "Ease up, Carl. Remember, I'm callin' the shots here."

CJ rolled his eyes, "What else is new..."

"The van will be departing the mansion shortly. Your sister, as well as The Truth and Woozie are about to depart for the Hyman Condo, in case you are interested."

"Take care of them, holmes, I promised Kendl we'd all get back to Los Santos in one piece." Cesar told Toreno.

Toreno's voice returned, "Rule number one: Never make promises."

CJ wondered how the hell Toreno could be a CIA agent when all he did was screw others around and make no sense whatsoever. Was that a prerequisite in the special forces? No wonder the country was going to hell so fast... He observed as a Bell Maverick slowly lifted into the air from atop the mansion, its rotor blades cleaving through the sky, the sound reaching his ears slightly muffled, the distance allowing most of the chopper's noise to fade away. It slowly rotated to the northwest, its rotors spinning to the point at which they became a blurry disc above the fuselage of the craft, any faster and they would be difficult to see at all. Dipping its nose forward, the Maverick gently eased ahead, still rising. It picked up speed and was soon across the bay, its shape shrinking into a small speck against the huge Downtown towers. Cesar watched it disappear and hoped for the best.

"You there, gentlemen? Our decoy is set." Toreno announced, "Our little Russian friend is now 'behind the wheel' of our little fireworks factory. He's wearing one of Tommy's shirts to complete the look, in case the Russian slimeball is prying on us again. The van will slowly travel to the west, across the bridge and onto Vice Highway. It will then head south toward the Docks. There is an old building that used to be a donut shop opposite the Little Havana police station. When the van reaches the traffic lights here it will stop. When it does, simply press the button and watch the fireworks. Civilian casualties are acceptable in this case, as this is to look like a fully-fledged inferno, not some cheap whizzbang. Got me? Good."

"Hang the fuck on, if the Russian dick is dead, how's he drivin'?" Sweet asked, confused.

"The van is remote controlled. Thanks to your pal Zero for providing the equipment, even if he didn't manage to tag along. We're gonna be controlling the van from here, as it has an onboard, forward-facing camera which will show us exactly where it's headed. All we need you to do is push that little red button."

"One of us could do that, man, why send three?"

Toreno chuckled, "Come, now, Carl, I know you well enough to realise that you and your friends wouldn't dare miss a good explosion."

CJ's mouth opened but no words formed. Toreno had him there.

A moment of silence passed, broken only by Cesar checking over his MP5, before Toreno's voice came over again, "The van is departing, men. Showtime!"

Tommy watched the screen with great concentration as he piloted the van down the front driveway and out onto the street. He had been through tough missions before, but this one was slightly different. The van was so heavily packed with explosives that the slightest bump could set the whole kaboodle off, and a detonation this close to the mansion would be disastrous. Additionally, if the van suddenly exploded after coming into contact with something, it certainly wouldn't pass off as the handiwork of an assassin to his Russian employers. Sweat formed on his brow as the van slowly edged out onto the road.

At that moment, the phone rang.

Tommy cursed, knowing it would be Nicotein or whatever that Russian dickhead's name was, calling in to alert 'Mr Teal' of Tommy's movement. Tommy flipped the cell phone on, careful to not make a sound. Within a heartbeat the familiar voice spoke through the small speakers which Vercetti had wired up to it. The phone was, he believed, a safe enough distance away from him so that it picked up little sound.

Then came a voice which made Toreno cringe, "Mr Teal, Vercetti is departing his mansion in a 1988 Ford Rumpo. You must not allow him to escape the island."

Tommy shared a glance with Toreno. Destroy the van on the island?

The Russian continued, "Vercetti must not leave Starfish Island, as this will interrupt our plans. I take it that you are in a suitable position for making the kill, Mr Teal, as I have come to expect no less from you. The van is moving slowly (it may be carrying a heavy load) so you have ample time to hit it. Ensure Vercetti does not survive. If that van leaves the island, your mission will be a failure, even if the van is destroyed after it escapes into Little Havana."

Tommy cursed. This wasn't to plan...

"However, I am also led to assume that the van is a decoy and that the real Mr Vercetti may still be in his mansion. Ockchabursk has been deployed, Mr Teal. I am sure you are familiar with its design from the blueprints I sent in 1985."

_1985! _Tommy recalled, _That was before I assumed his identity! Shit! Is that some kind of weapon? _

"If that van is not destroyed before it leaves the island, I will assume that you have discerned it to be a decoy, and Ockchabursk will carry out your mission for you. If Mr Vercetti is still in his mansion, then I am sure a swift missile strike will ensure a swift and impressive termination."

Toreno lost it and picked up the transmitter, howling into it, "Carl! Carl, this is Toreno! Blow that thing up NOW!"

"WHA?" the voices of the three men out in the bay replied in total shock and confusion.

"The Russians have a weapon we didn't know about, and if that van isn't destroyed before it leaves Starfish Island, then the mansion is gonna be the first thing it attacks! You gotta destroy it now!"

Sweet blinked in horror as he saw the Top Fun van slowly trudging onto Starfish Island's western bridge, "It's on the bridge, if we blow it now it'll-"

"DESTROY IT FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Sweet hissed and stabbed the red button upon the controller in his hand.

At first, nothing seemed to happen as the van reached the middle of the bridge to Little Havana, a Pontiac Phoenix and a 1957 Chevy Walton pickup crossing it at the same time along with multiple pedestrians, unaware until too late as the van's innards lit up, light streaming from all windows. The sides of the van seemed to rupture and split before suddenly the entire van burst into an enormous expanding shockwave of fire and debris. Fragments of the vehicle were thrown into the air, the blast catching the two other vehicles on the bridge. Pedestrians were incinerated or thrown into the bay as the van became a massive incediary bomb. The Phoenix caught the blast side on, tearing apart the side closest to the explosion as the shockwave lifted the car off the bridge and sent it tumbling into the water upon its roof. The engine overheated and the front end of the crippled sports car exploded, sending a jet of spray into the air which gradually dispersed into the air against the clouds of fire and smoke billowing outwards.

The Walton was not so lucky, literally driving into the blast wave head on. The fore of the explosion shattered its wooden carry cage upon its back as the fireball expanded outwards from the harmless-looking van, consuming the old truck's front end and lifting it into the sky. Its fuel tank flagrated mid-air, the boxy front of the truck throwing itself apart in a second, slightly less spectacular firebomb. The charred remains of the lower chassis, the wheels completely ripped off the burnt-out frame, slammed back onto the bridge, and sat there to burn.

It did not end there as the small bridge, only wide enough for two lanes each way, suddenly creaked under the force of the eruption atop. The concrete, metal and stone structure had been rocked to its pylons with the blast and was slowly losing strength. From the impact point spread several cracks in the asphalt, spreading out along the road toward the edges. The archway above the western entrance, damaged by the explosion, slowly began to topple forward, the stone structure giving way toward its base, falling toward the decimated bridge. It crumbled on the way down, the yellowish monument smashing onto the burning roadway in several huge chunks. The resounding crash was heard easily from the Cuban Jetmax as it sat in the water observing the sight before them. The bridge suddenly lurched downwards, the force ofthe arch's impact enough to unsettle it. With a groaning, laboured creak the bridge gave way, the only western link to Starfish Island crumbling into the bay, the remains of the Walton and several pedestrians falling into the water below, the fire slowly extinguished as it fell into the blue depth, the smoke and steam rising into a gloomy cloud above Starfish Island. Nothing was left of the van, and little was left of anything else that had been nearby. The screams of witnessing pedestrians began to fill the air, and several cars on the Viceport bridge stopped to observe the carnage unfolding north of them. Sweet growled. Somehow he felt sorry for those who didn't know it was coming. Starfish Island had lost its only link to the west. And now a dark cloud of smoke, dust and death slowly descending over Vice's central island.

"I hope you're happy, you fuckin' Russian pig..." growled Sweet, dropping the controller onto the floor of the boat. CJ watched in silent awe. That had been far larger than he expected. The bridge was gone! Where'd Tommy get all that stuff?

Cesar muttered, "Mierda santa..."

Toreno's voice came over, "Carl... Sean... Cesar... you did it. Thanks. Looks like we're outta harm's way now..."

CJ cursed. He doubted it was gonna be that easy.

Tommy growled. He had no idea what had just happened but the whole mansion seemed to jolt with the force of the quake generated by that explosion. He could hear the cries, the shouts and the screams from the streets. He was used to those sounds. But somehow it felt different. After all... it was supposed to be he who was dead.

The phone was slient for a moment before a rather satisfied voice came over it, "Mr Teal, once again you have far exceeded my expectations. That was a marvellous explosion, and I thank you for showing the citizens of Vice City, particularly those caught in the explosion, that we are here to stay. I congratulate you. Victory is only a whisker away now, I can truly feel it. The next stage of our operation is underway, and soon Vice shall be ours, Mr Teal. I will call upon you again should I require your services. Again, you have my thanks. Ockchabursk is dispatching an Mi-24 helicopter to deal with a small boat carrying three individuals that departed the mansion a short time ago which is now stationary near Viceport bridge. We cannot allow any survivors Mr Teal, as I am sure you are aware. Prepare to reap the awards of our campaign, Mr Teal, for you have served me well." With a click, the phone line disconnected.

At that moment, Tommy bolted to his feet and charged out of the office, "Shit!"

"What the fuck are you DOING?" Toreno barked, tearing after him.

"You heard him, didn't you? They're sending a fuckin' Soviet GUNSHIP to destroy the Jetmax! I can't let them do that!"

"Tommy, it's a Hind, for god's sake, and you haven't flown a Hunter in half a decade!" Toreno protested.

Tommy nodded as he barrelled down one of the Estate's many corridors, leading toward the back of the large property, "Maybe not a Hunter, but it's been only a couple of days since I took the Seasparrow for a spin."

Toreno couldn't believe what he was hearing, "You're going to take on a Russian attack helicopter in the SEASPARROW?"

"Yeah! Problem?"

"You're nuts!"

"Always have been, Mike." Tommy confirmed as he took a left and ran through a small marble-lined room, the other end of which was open to the back yard. Tommy ducked under the branch of one of the many trees growing among the pathways and ripped open the door of the Bell H-13 Seasparrow sitting patiently in the middle of the yard between four stone pools. Toreno shook his head in defeat. The rotor blades whipped into motion, creating a downdraft that made Mike Toreno wince. The amphibious chopper lifted into the sky and floated out toward the bay, where Toreno could already see the dark brown shape of another larger helicopter heading west. Was Ockchabursk some sort of military base? Maybe an aircraft carrier? It would have shown up on radar if it was a carrier, though...

Toreno glanced across at one of the McDonnell Douglas AH-64 Hunter helicopters sitting, unused, in the side gardens. Toreno growled. He hadn't brushed up on his helicopter skills as much as his basic piloting, and by the time he managed to lug that brown tub of ammunition over to assist it would no doubt be too late. Toreno huffed. He wished he had as much faith in Tommy as Tommy had in that little helicopter of his...

The smoke was rising steadily from the inferno which still burned on both sides of the demolished bridge. The remains of the cars caught in the blast smouldered either on the road by the hole blasted in the bridge, or sitting at the bottom of the shallow bay. That explosion had been phenomenal, like a mini-nuke. As far as the three San Andreans could tell, there was absolutely nothing left of the van that had produced the massive fireball.

And, in that case, not even ash was left of the Sovereign spy.

"Motherfucker deserved what he got..." Sweet growled.

"Fo' sure!" CJ nodded.

Cesar tapped the MP5 in his hand against the side of the boat, enjoying the show, "That Russian was a fuckin' rat, holmes, that vato's whole gang should end up that way! That'd be the SHIT!"

"Damn right, homie." CJ muttered.

There was silence for a moment as the boat floated soundlessly in the water, the three men still enjoying the billowing cloud of black smoke trailing into the sky. CJ realised that with the bridge out it was difficult to get to the other side of the city without doing a round-trip. It wasn't far between the eastern Starfish Island bridge and the Viceport bridge, and the Leaf Links bridge on the other side of the bay was an easy means of getting into Little Haiti. CJ couldn't take any blame for complicating things, he did as Toreno told him. It was Toreno who complicated things, and Toreno who often gave the orders. CJ wondered exactly how he could rise up the shitpile to be at a similar level to him, but CJ was a gang leader, Toreno was a government agent. He doubted he'd ever get that far up the pecking order.

"Hey man, you hear that?" Sweet asked.

"Nah man, what?"

"That noise, fool! Can't ya hear it?" Sweet asked.

"Hey, ese, I hear it too!" Cesar replied.

CJ listened and then he began to hear it as well. A low beating noise, like a whipping noise coming from massive churning blades. It sounded like a helicopter, but the police helicopter that usually patrolled was nowhere to be seen. The three glanced around, looking for the source of the strange disturbance. The sound was growing louder, and at the same time more menacing.

"What the fuck..." CJ cursed, still unable to find the helicopter in question.

Cesar glanced out to the east and gaped.

"Can't fuckin' see it, man, you sure-"

"Holmes... we're so fucked." Cesar muttered. He motioned with his SMG out toward Ocean Beach, and the Johnsons followed Cesar's horrified stare. Together they muttered.

"Oh... FUCK!"

The Jetmax was suddenly overshadowed by a massive gunmetal-grey monster, flying in under the force of its massive churning blades, its weapon arms hanging out to the sides. A massive gun turret on the chopper's underside turret trained down upon the tiny boat, the gunner inside staring down at them with a cold glare. The gunner sat inside the large ball turret, the pilot sitting behind him and higher-up. The huge gunship sent a downdraft into the bay, the ripples buffeting the tiny speedboat and slowly blowing it backwards.

"Shit, man, get us outta here!" Sweet cried.

CJ cranked up the motor as the Jetmax fought the terrific blasts of wind coming from the gunship. "That thing must be a fuckin' Russian helicopter!"

"I think that's a reasonable theory, holmes!" Cesar agreed, shouting over the deafening roar of the helicopter's huge engines. The Hind's main cannon followed the movement of the boat as it struggled against the helicopter's downdraft. A single round fired its way from the cannon, ripping into the Jetmax's side, barely missing Cesar's arm. It tore a large hole, making all three curse loudly.

"Shit, man, if that thing unloads on us we'll be minced before we even sink!" Sweet cried.

"And do you think I'm just gonna leave us fuckin' sittin' here, man? I'm doin' my best!"

The Hind hovered closer as the tiny boat stuttered in the water, its massive body hanging in the sky, a predator about to strike out and kill its prey. Cesar raised his MP5 and unleashed a whole magazine of bullets up toward the huge helicopter, but the shots seemed to have no effect. Cesar even tried aiming at the weapons on the outer arms in hope of setting one of the rockets off, but nothing happened, the gunship unharmed. It came closer still, slowly descending toward the surface, not noticing a second, much smaller helicopter swing around behind it and slowly start to hover, floating downwards as the minigun beneath its bubble canopy dropping down into firing position. The three in the boat recognised the blue Hawaiian shirt of the second helicopter's pilot just as the Seasparrow's cannon let loose with a spray of high-speed rounds, right into the gunship's back.

The bullets ploughed into the helicopter's rear, striking the rear rotor and the engine assembly. The rear rotor buckled as the tail wobbled and disconnected, sending the helicopter listing to the right. The Seasparrow fired again, and second volley ripping into the rear of the helicopter's engine, tearing a gash. Smoke began to spill from the shredded cowling, the helicopter already doomed.

But Vercetti wasn't done yet.

He swung the Seasparrow around as the front of the Hind rotated around into view, the helicopter in an uncontrollable spin with its stabilising tail shot apart. As the twi canopies came into view, Tommy fired. By the time the gunship had fully rotated around, its front facing the tiny Seasparrow, there was nothing but a pair large red spattered smears of blood inside the two cockpits. The chopper spun still, completely out of control. Its side came into range, and Tommy fired again. Bullets cratered the side of the helicopter menacingly, each bullet tearing a small hole. More smoke billowed out from the engines, rising up to meet with the smoke from the explosion on Starfish Island. Cesar and CJ fired up again as Tommy's fire cut a swathe of battle damage across the stricken gunship's port. Then, a single bullet from the Seasparrow hit a rocket latched to the weapon arm carrying it.

Within a second every warhead on the gunship ignited and detonated, engulfing the sky in flame and blowing the ill-fated helicopter into shrapnel, the rotor blades blasted off the main body, spinning wildly through the air before cutting into the water and sinking quick. The burning debris of the helicopter rained into the bay like fiery streaks of molten metal, striking the surface of the water and causing jets of steam to rise. CJ, Sweet and Cesar breathed a huge, relieved sigh. The threat was over...

The Seasparrow turned to face them, and Tommy gave a quick nod of approval. Sweet grinned back and raised his fist and shouted in triumph. The Seasparrow gracefully arched around, dipping so that the pontoons on its underside came within a metre of the sparkling blue waters, the tiny two-person heli returning to its home base.

CJ gradually powered up the Jetmax, no longer plagued by a massive brute-force downdraft. Cesar and Sweet still watched as the wreckage of the Hind slowly sank, parts of it still burning. As the Cuban-made boat began to accelerate, taking them back to Starfish Island, a fact occured to CJ: whilst Vice was only a small city in comparison to some, the action around here was certainly not to be taken for granted.

"Hey, man, when we get back to Santos, I'm gonna use some of the funds from the Four Dragons to get me a monthly vacation here..." CJ muttered.

"You talkin' shit again, nigga..." Sweet grumbled.

Nicolai watched the gunship erupt in a massive fireball which lit up the darkening sky with chained hatred. Vercetti was dead, his empire fit for the taking, but he still had loyal followers and minions capable of somehow bringing down one of Ockchabursk's 1-Squadron Hinds with a mere amphibious hopper-chopper. It was rather amazing, Nicolai had to admit. Perhaps Vercetti would not be the only majoy target in need of termination. Perhaps he could reach Mr Teal for another mission.

Lance Vance stood beside him, glaring down at the fireball that erupted over the central bay, "Dammit, how did they manage that? A Sparrow is a recreational helicopter, not a GUNSHIP!"

"It appears to be a modified version," Adrik muttered, staring into his binoculars from atop WK Chariot, "amphibious pontoons, an underslung minigun and what appears to b-" Adrik broke off, and lowered his binoculars slowly from his eyes, staring gravely out at the waters where the Seasparrow flew.

Lance blinked, "Hey, man, you ok? You like you've seen a ghost!"

Adrik growled, "I should have known..."

"What?"

"Mr Teal is dead."

"Huh?"

"Mr Teal is dead. He has been for a long time. I wasn't giving my missions to a hitman of mine... and I know that exploding van wasn't caused by an RPG..."

"What kinda shit is going on, then?" Lance growled impatiently.

"That helicopter, the one that destroyed my Mil, was piloted by Tommy Vercetti."

"SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHIT!" spat Lance.

"The whole bombing was a set-up. He faked his death and blew his cover when I sent the helicopter after that boat. Those three must have been responsible for setting off the bomb... but look. The western bridge is out. They are trapped." a grin spread across Adrik's face and his teeth flashed, "Now that I think of it... this has been far more advantageous than I originally anticipated."

"Wanna have Ockchabursk destroy that shithole mansion?" Lance questioned eagerly.

"No... I have a better idea. We proceed as originally planned."

"But-"

"Prepare the Wraith, Mr Vance. I promised you the chance to kill Vercetti and you shall have it. Ockchabursk will deploy landing craft and the vehicles. Has your friend from San Andreas managed to pull together some recruits?"

"We have an 80-strong army of Frontyard Ballas ready to expand their turf into Vice, as you wished."

Adrik smiled, "Very good. And the Vagos inductees?"

"The first Vagos killheads will be arriving soon. I think our forces are sufficient."

"They will be. With nowhere to go, no place to run, Vercetti has cornered himself on Starfish Island. The perfect place for our blockade... for our invasion..." Adrik's eyes twinkled with a wicked anticipation full of glee and readiness, "Mr Vance, prepare the forces. Tomorrow... Vercetti shall die... and we shall make Vice ours..."

End of chapter 8!

Woo, at last! Heh, thought it would never end...

Comments welcome! I'm sure many of you are wondering what Adrik has planned, and exactly what the mysterious 'Ockchabursk' is...

All in due time! And yes, you guys were right, Lance Vance and Ryder are back from the dead (well, come on, the way they died in the games they could have easily survived...) and now want to bring down Tommy and CJ with the help of Nicolai, and given the power they have behind them, it may well happen...

See ya for Chapter 9, peeps! Remember, read and review!


	9. The Sovereigns' War

I live! It's a freaking miracle!

Basically I've been tied down with heaps of stuff, such as school, military life and another fanfiction series which has been enjoying considerable success. But did you think I would just leave this one be? Unfinished?! Hell no! I forgive ya if you have completely forgotten the plot of this story. I'll be more careful to keep track with this one. At any rate, this will be the last chapter set in Vice, and this is where stuff gets interesting. Hopefully.

Enjoy, everyone!

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The Sovereigns' War

VCPR had not shut up, and Tommy was getting sick of it. He'd had enough of Jonathan Freeloader's incessant whining back when he was a beg-a-thon spokesman when VCPR was a truly 'public' radio. Since Vice City News bought a stake in the station, however, he had been reduced to a lowly newsman. He had spent the last seven hours donning his 'Oh, the humanity!' persona every time his bulletin came to air, stating the death toll, the pricetag of the damage and all the possible, hare-brained ideas that the public could come up with as to who was behind the attack that had killed fourteen people, wounded a further six, and destroyed a 1988 Ford Rumpo, a Pontiac Phoenix formerly owned by the manager of the Liberty City Cocks, an old Walton pickup and the only bridge connecting Starfish Island to Vice City's western portion. Tommy rubbed his forehead, feeling his age stalking him. Despite fatigue, he wasn't too desperate to get some sleep. Not after the nightmare with Lance reappeared. He got up from the black leather armchair and wandered, hands in his pockets, toward the window that faced south, out toward the Docks and Ocean Beach. They looked particularly beautiful under starlight as the flashing lights of passenger aircraft gradually floated out of Escobar.

"All of this is mine..." he muttered. It was true, he had enough power in this city to bring it to its knees and turn it into whatever kind of paradise he wanted. He had to hand it to Sonny Forelli, though. At least this place wasn't a dump like Liberty. It was paradise, almost. That's certainly how the tourists saw it up until yesterday. He checked his watch. 12:28am. A new day. And according to Nicolai, it was going to be his last, "Who's gonna take over when I'm out of the picture...?" he asked himself.

"Yer askin' a question Ah didn't expect to hear outta ya." came a gravelly voice. Tommy turned to see Avery Carrington standing at the entrance to his office. He wasn't wearing his usual blue suit and cowboy hat. He wore just a white shirt, partially unbuttoned, and some basic black pants. His head was balding, which was probably why he covered it up all the time. Avery was used to all the Jim Ross jokes (they even hailed from the same state), and waltzed through life with a casual air that Tommy could not even hope to share. "Up a little late, Tommeh?"

Tommy managed to grin, "I, uh... am having trouble sleeping."

"No surprise." Carrington muttered, entering his office and moving to stand beside Tommy and take in the midnight views. He didn't ask to enter, for he needed no permission. The two men had been business partners for six years, and Tommy had everlasting trust for the man, who had cunning and wit as sharp as the katana mounted on the nearby wall. "Not ev'rybody gets shut-eye when there's such excitement in the air. Finally, somethin' decent in six years! Who knows? Might raise the real-estate around here." he chuckled. He faced Tommy, "Or is something else up?"

"Ah, just... nightmares... you know... flashbacks, that sorta thing. I keep getting this dream about one of my former partners killing me, even though I got rid of that piece of shit when we took over Vice. Can't help but think it means something, you know..."

Avery laughed heartily, as only a born and bred cowboy-at-heart like he could, "Ahh, that's bullshit, Tommeh. If I believed the dreams I see, I'd be led to think my old apprentice Donald Love is gonna be the death o' me! Bunch o' crap, these nightmares, Tommeh, ignore 'em." he dismissed him with a wave. He heard Tommy mutter "Let's just hope", and said nothing. Even the top crimelord in the state had the right to feel nervous sometimes. But lately, it shouldn't have been about something as trivial as that. Instead, Avery murmured, "Anything out there that catches your interest?"

Tommy watched the distant figure of a container ship drifting southward to some remote Caribbean destination, its many running lights turning the barge into a distant shimmer. "No... I just wonder how much of this I'll have left when this is all over."

"Don't talk trash, Tommeh, these guys are just thugs who wanna get their hands on our soil. Odds are the folks over at Baxter will drive 'em out by lunchtime if they attack this mornin' like they said. A simple bit o' pest control in the name o' public interest! Should drop the real estate prices round here, too. Win-win!"

"Toreno doesn't share your enthusiasm, Avery, and forgive me when I say that I'm more likely to believe what he has to say about all this. We've been friends since I took over this place, and I did him more than my share of favours. Now he's wanting to do some for me. He even brought Ken back, and to be honest, I kinda missed him. Not too much though... not too much..."

"So what yer sayin' is... you don't think this'll just be a simple cleanup operation, and that we could be dealin' with a full scale war here?"

Tommy actually grinned, "I don't feel any better hearing those words from you, Avery." he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His hairline was beginning to thin, and he would be grey before long, he knew. Another sign that his little reign of supremacy might be running out of steam. "The boys are doing everything they can, I know. Maybe I'm paranoid, but... just because I think everything's about to come crashing down doesn't mean it ain't. The western bridge will be out for weeks, and if... if we have to run, we'd have to go the long way."

"Run!? To the airport!?" Avery gawped, flustered, "Tommeh, yer joshin' me! After all you did, after all WE did, yer just gonna throw it all away?"

"No..." Tommy growled, "My empire is only finished when I draw my last breath. And who knows? I might have an heir before then."

"You don't have any kids, though!"

Tommy beamed, "I'm sure Mercedes can do something about that."

There was a moment of relaxed silence, before Tommy's pager started beeping. Spinning around to collect the small device and held it to eye level. He actually squinted, his eyes not what they once were. Reading the text as it scrolled across the tiny machine, he nodded, "That's it then..."

"What's it?" Avery asked.

"The last of my properties is locked down. I've split the boys into groups, and they'll defend each. They'll get a greater cut of the profits from next week's Hotring as insurance." he explained, happy that he had acquired the Hyman Stadium in the fall of '89, and making plenty of cash from it as a result, "I know they want to take down my organisation. I know it, Avery. We're gonna fight for it. You, me, Toreno and his San Andreas boys... all of us." His expression was stern, "Vice is OURS, Avery. You of all people should appreciate a bit of territorial patriotism."

Avery grinned, "Always have, always will, Tommeh."

Tommy nodded, glad he had so many people to rely on. Friends in high places, even if he was, at heart, a ruthless and evil person. He was the lesser of Vice's two evils, this time. And both had manifested here for so long. "We begin in four hours." He tossed the pager back onto the desk, where it skittered to a halt next to some old papers from drug deals long ago made. He only sold the stuff to the suckers on the streets, never kept any for himself anymore. The best way to deal with a temptation like that was to get rid of it. "The sooner we can get this over with..." he rubbed his temples and almost yawned, "the sooner I can get some sleep..."

"Not now Cesar, aight? We can do this _after _we pop these muthafucker's heads." CJ growled as he brought the Bullet into a graceful turn onto a bridge that crossed one of Vice City's several canals. Ahead of them was the Washington Beach Police headquaters. Not the place to end up at a time like this, or at any time for that matter. After his previous run-ins with certain uniformed, badge-wearing idiots, he kept a wide berth from such places.

"It's FANTASTIC, holmes! They've got garages and testing simulators... they even run a street racing ring that operates on weekends! I wanna live at Sunshine Autos, holmes, it's the BEST!"

"Yeh, well..." CJ glanced out the window at a shapely pedestrian lady as she strode past. "I'm sure we can do somethin' like that at Wang's showroom back in Fierro. You know how much spare cash we're gettin', man? We could by half of fuckin' Bone County with that paper, man!"

"Let's hurry up and finish this then, ese! What the hell are we out here for?" Cesar complained. It had barely hit 7am, and everyone was busy doing something, such as arming themselves to the teeth (Sweet and Phil), keeping the mansion secure (practically everyone who was on hand) or some start-of-the-day partying at the Malibu (Kent Paul, obviously).

"We gotta look for suspicious circumstances." CJ replied, dully, as though repeating it for the ten-millionth time. "I think we should just head out the the beach, stop for a few minutes, and then head back... stop fuckin' about and get something worthwhile done... hell, man, I barely remember why we came here."

"Well I do!" Cesar replied, letting one of his arms hang out the side of the mint-green sportscar's windows, "Toreno thinks that all the weird shit with the Ballas back in Los Santos and these Russian vatos are connected somehow! Geez, CJ, where you been lately?"

"Guess I just got bogged down with bein' here, man. Don't worry, man, just chill... we'll clear this shit up, and then... I dunno, I just don't wanna leave this place, man."

"What would your brother say if you told him tha-"

CJ slammed on the brakes as a guy on a shiny blue motorbike swerved in front of him, cut him off and then sped off between two lanes of cars. CJ raised a beseeching hand out the window, brimming with obscenities he knew the rider would never hear, "FUCK!" He poked his head out of the Bullet's window and yelled, "DICKHEAD!" he tried to make a gesture toward the car, but it had already cruised off, "These Florida assholes dunno how to drive, man..."

"Good, we agree." Cesar muttered, "So you can come home to Los Santos after all."

CJ only grinned, shaking his head.

He took a sidestreet and they soon found themselves cruising southward down Ocean Beach Drive. Some of the buildings still glowed with a vivid array of lights that looked somewhat useless in this morning hour, although several were still bright enough to cast a glow upon themselves. There were few cars along the main road but that didn't mean there weren't idiots who tend to cut them off. Ocean Drive was a long and fairly straight north/south road which ran along the eastern beach, from the southern tip of Vice's east island up to the high-rise apartments and office complexes near Malibu. CJ glanced out his window toward the beach at his left, which was guarded by only a small brick dividing wall and pavement. Seating benches were spaced along the grassy area closer to the road, as palm trees stretches their long, ferny leaves to the morning sky to take in those first few rays of hot Miami sunshine.

"Shoulda come here later, ese, we coulda found ourselves some hot mamacitas in bikinis!" Cesar suggested.

"Now that's my territory, homie." CJ replied slyly, "Besides, y'all got Kendl to be fantasising over." It only dawned on him a moment later how weird it sounded, saying that about his own sister.

"From what I heard from her, ese, there's nothing in the way of beaches Downtown. It's just land meeting sea and no sand and no surf. Boring as shit, man. And she ain't into fast cars as much as us, holmes, so she's really itchin' for some fun."

"It's a long drive from here to the Hyman Condo, though, cos we did a nice job of taking out that bridge on Starfish Island. And from what I hear, the streetgangs up north would want to get their hands on a good car like this. Motherfuckin' wannabes..."

Cesar only made a grumbling noise and said no more about it. He glanced over to the rear seat, where a shiny Mac-10 sub-machinegun sat upon the flawless leather rear seat. They could take any shark that wanted to steal their car and dump their bodies over the edge of some bridge. But alas, there was a time for that and it was not now. Cesar shook his head, "I just keep thinkin', holmes... what's all this gotta do with Ballas and Vagos gettin' powerful stockpiles and shit, man? I mean... if this Russian prick wants to invade with his army of cacos cos of some weapon Toreno won't even tell us about, then why get the Santos streetgangs involved at all?"

CJ shook his head, "I remember Smoke gettin' into all kinds of shit with the Russians, and maybe they called up a favour or something, man, I dunno. No point in thinking about it unless Toreno talks. Which doesn't seem likely..."

Cesar pounded the door in frustration, "Fuck, man... My gang is probably gettin' hit right now, and we got problems here in Vice, Kendl's worried sick, and I feel REALLY uncomfortable about all this, all cos we're not allowed to know what the Russians are after? Why bring us here at all? Hey, CJ, you listening? I think we should go back and demand more info and shit from Toreno, otherwise we should just head back to Los Santos before the Varrios and the Grove are flattened, ese! There's no point in it!" He glared at a girl rollerblading down the sidewalk briskly, carefree and without the tumultuous stress going through Cesar's head right now, "I mean seriously holmes, why bother? What's this Vercetti guy done for us? And what has... CJ, why are you pulling over? Ese? HEY!"

"Just a sec, man..." CJ muttered with a quick, dismissive wave. He squinted as he gazed out past the palm trees, beach-going earlybirds and the small wooden lifesaver's hut, toward the open water to the east. The sun, still rising, was casting a glare into his eyes that was difficult to ignore as he tried to focus on something that had caught his attention out at sea. "...the fuck is that?"

"What do you see, holmes?" Cesar asked. CJ had pulled the car over in front of a small hotel and restaurant, parking between a sleek Oceanic cruisercar and a Banshee convertible. Cesar, unable to see past CJ, opened the door and climbed out of the car.

"You see it, homie?" CJ asked, putting on a pair of green-tinted sunglasses to block the glare of the sun. It was distant and obscured, but definitely there. And nobody had seemed to notice it except him.

"Holmes, it's probably just a tanker or somethin' from the docks."

"No way, man, it's too dark and sleek to be a tanker. Looks almost like a giant hump in the water... but that can't be right. And look, Cesar, it's moving!" CJ was right. The distant, vague dark object, sitting far offshore, was slowly sidling northwards. The hull seemed curved and CJ could not make out a bridge or any discernable structure upon it. The rear of it seemed more distinct though, rising further out of the water like a bulge. Neither of them could tell what it was - some sort of ship? - but it gave them both a very bad feeling. CJ snapped his fingers, "We could ask Toreno."

"And what the fuck are the odds of him giving us a straight answer, holmes?"

"If it's nothing to worry about, there's no reason for him to not tell us, man. And if he doesn't, then we know something's up." He pulled his cellphone out and punched in Toreno's number. As far as he knew, Toreno was still at the mansion, making more of his unseen preparations. The phone connected and began to ring. Good. Sometimes, getting through to him at all was the hardest part. After a few moments, Toreno's slightly muffled voice picked up.

"Morning, Carl. Up early?"

"Toreno, there's something out east of the Ocean Beach area that needs a look at. Something's out there but I can't tell what it is."

"What makes you think I would know?" Toreno replied casually.

"Listen, Toreno, don't fuck around with me! I know you've been installing all sorts of hardware and crazy shit with Tommy's men. You would at least have put a radar in or something!"

Toreno chuckled, "Good, CJ, good. You know the priorities. Yeah, I stuck a radar in. Where did you say it was, Ocean Beach?"

"Just east of the Drive."

"Alright, now, let's see..." there was some sort of ambigious activity on the other end of the line. Perhaps the reason why Toreno was muffled and distant. Interfering equipment perhaps. After a few moments, in which CJ glanced with Cesar who was still eyeing the weird and distant object, Toreno's voice came back, "Sure you're not seeing things, Carl? There's nothing out there."

"Toreno, it's a big, black, dark, long sort of object floating out past the lighthouse and heading north! Looks like some sort of ship. Can you pick ships up on your little screen?"

"I've got all traffic, air and sea. Land vehicles are a different matter, though. Building obstructions and line-of-sight."

"So you should be able to see what is out there, right?"

"Hold up, I'll get confirmation. One of Tommy's men is inbound in a chopper. We can get him to check for us, up there. Just a sec..." there was more muffled noises, and CJ felt left out already. He hated a situation where he had something staring at him, right in the face, and yet he could do nothing about it. Typical Toreno-style setup. Right down to the letter. "Yes, Antonio, how ya doin'..." Toreno muttered into a different speaker, but he was still audible on CJ's line, "Listen, we got a call mentioning an unidentified object at grid eighty-seven-alpha-billie-jean. Can you check it out for us? According to our radar equipment, it's not there."

CJ waited. Waiting sucked. Cesar blocked the sun with his hand before being distracted by a passing female beach-goer, who gave him a cheeky wink. He smiled back at her, "Woooo..."

"You sure?" came Toreno's voice. CJ growled. "Alright, uh... listen, inform the boss that... hang on, wait..." there was a clattering noise, and Toreno's voice came back clearer, having picked up the other phone, too. "We're getting something now. But... it's not big enough to be your little friend, CJ. I'm reading... three small contacts emerging from out of nowhere. I think your object might be some sort of stealth vessel."

"What do you think those three things are?" CJ asked loudly, enough to get Cesar's attention. The Latino man squinted, and his jaw dropped a little. "What are they, Toreno?"

"I can't tell, but they're heading toward the beach."

"CJ..." Cesar muttered, "I think there's something coming to meet us!" he pointed toward the smaller, boxier objects that had been launched from the mysterious object, now ploughing through the water toward the beach. Several other pedestrians had reacted to it, as well, and a couple of worried screams came from a pair of beach-babes on the other side of the road.

"Four more objects!" Toreno yelled, "Two of them are following the same course as the others but the others are... oh my God..."

CJ's eyes widened as he saw what the other two objects were doing. These ones didn't steam through the water. They ripped through the air, approaching the beach at high speed. Cesar spat, "HOLY SHIT, HELICOPTERS!"

"The same type as the one which attacked us the other day! FUCK it, Cesar, we gotta go!" CJ snapped his phone shut as Cesar clambered into the Bullet and slammed the door. CJ planted his foot on the gas and the car lurched forward, ducking out of its parking spot but scraping the Oceanic's rear fender in the process. CJ snapped it into a turn and sped back up the Drive toward the Washington Beach turnoff. Behind him a missile rocketed into one of the hotels, spewing a burning gust of debris across the road as people everywhere erupted into panic. "We're going back to the mansion," CJ informed, "Those things in the water... they might be landing craft... and those helicopters will make short work of any cops who try and stop them." An ambulance shot past them, toward the scene of the first missile hit. Another tremor rocked the car, another explosion not far off.

"That was a carrier, wasn't it?" Cesar asked. There was a grim smile on his face, knowing that the fun had started, "A stealth carrier that Toreno couldn't see... it's perfect, holmes... they planned it perfectly."

"Yeah, but they didn't count on the little surprises that Tommy's got waiting for them back at the mansion. And the army won't take kindly to this either."

Cesar chuckled, "Whadya know, holmes?" he turned to CJ, amazement on his face, "We're at war!"

Atop the Chariot hotel, a stocky man in a green/brown uniform adjusted the zoom on his binoculars and with an amused grin, lowered them from his face. Adrik Nicolai was most pleased. He and his followers had planned this for years, anticipating the fall of the great and mighty Soviet Union. It would be his job to bring it to power once more, just as Stalin, rest his soul, would have wanted. The great empire that would spread across the world, embracing the gift that is communism, would flourish and prosper for centuries should they get a foothold here. America. The land that tried, and failed, to kill the dream off.

"The attack goes as planned." he announced to a group of three men positioned behind him, one leaning against the body of a dark, forboding craft whose twin rotors seemed to stick into the air like lethal daggers. "I anticipate a full military counter-attack by the city's armed forces within the next 20 minutes. We may treat ourselves to the spectacle of Ockchabursk in action once this happens." his accent was rich and the scar that ran down one side of his face twitched whenever he moved his lips. "Alyosha," he spoke to one of the men nearest to him, who was tall and extremely chiseled like a professional bodybuilder. He wore an identical uniform to Nicolai, but lacked the large ensignias of rank. His blue eyes glared at Nicolai icily, his blonde hair short and spiked, "once our foothold is gained, I want you to co-ordinate the advance toward Starfish Island from the south. You will rendezvous with Yevgeniy's team at the southern mouth, by the docks."

"Yessir." Aloysha nodded, attentive, his accent not quite as thick.

"Vyacheslav," Nicolai spoke to the other man, who was shorter but no less muscular. He had a mat of brown hair, neatly combed, and a goatee, "your team will assist Semyon and Timofei in the northern advance. All craft will converge on the central river system in order to advance to Starfish Island from all directions except west."

"Why not west, sir?" asked Vyacheslav, his accent so distinct that the third man, who was of African-American descent with a bit of Hispanic blood mixed in yet unnoticeable, could barely tell what he said.

Nicolai beamed, "The thrill of the fight, my friend. If we completely storm the city from all angles, where is the fun in defending ourselves? The more we have to deal with, the more that the rest of this wretched country will realise that we are too much for them. With Ockchabursk, and then Aurora, we will be unstoppable, comrade!"

Vyacheslav grinned, "I see, sir. Which team are you leading?"

"I will stay with the street units. The friends we recruited from the west will finally show us what they can do."

Alyosha grinned, hands behind his back, staring toward the great dark mass in the eastern ocean, "Commander Kseniya's group, sir? I hear she is quite the drill thrall."

Nicolai glared, "That is enough, Alyosha, I assure you that you will all serve under her someday."

"Don't we look forward to it." Vyacheslav chuckled.

"To your duties, then!" Nicolai snapped. A former Master Sergeant, he knew his combat roles and how to lead a unit. As of now, none of them held an actual rank. They were not part of any official military organisation, but an offshoot syndicate with their goal set out for them. Nicolai was no greater than the lowest midshipman or the newest Balla recruit, but his experience set him above the rest. They were all equal, part of the greater system, Sovreignity, that their organisation would introduce and spread across the world. "Today, we seize Vice and strip Vercetti of his power and life. This is just a stepping stone, my comrades. Today, Vice. Tomorrow, America. Next week... the world, comrades."

Both men snapped to attention, made a gesture of salute with their clenched fist across their chest, and then spun around, both men filing into a second craft which stood upon the roof of the large highrise, an old Mi-2 transport helicopter. The men would be sent out to Ockchabursk, meet up with their units and carry out their duties from there. In moments, the helicopter was airborne, swung around and floated off, leaving the two men alone next to the second, formidable looking machine.

Lance Vance stepped forward, arms folded, "You seem to have everything worked out. I almost don't need to even be here."

"Don't be ridiculous, Lance. You're one of our best helicopter pilots, and the score you wish to settle with Vercetti gives you all the more reason to join our ranks. I'm surprised it wasn't you who came to us."

"You approached me because you sought inside information on the workings of Vice City's biggest crimelord. Something your men couldn't ever manage to do without getting shot. Hell... you nearly advertised in the goddamn paper."

Nicolai nodded, "The position was one of great importance, and we were desperate for an individual to fill it. But, now that we have all we need, if you are not content with your position, then," reaching into his uniform jacket, he pulled out a small pistol and aimed it at Lance's head, "you may go."

Lance flinched, "Hey man, calm the fuck down. I'm stayin'. All I said was that, with everything, I don't think I could possibly make things better down there than it is already. I mean look," he pointed southward, "Half of Ocean Beach is burning, and your men have come ashore. Your red and green Sovereign Sabres will fill the streets like much needed blood through the city's veins. And check out down there..." he pointed to the Washington Beach Police Department, the police HQ in Vice, which was burning and cratered with helicopter missile hits. Wrecked police cars littered the streets. "The bacteria, the unnecessary infestation... all of it is getting cleaned away. Vice will be liberated at last, thanks to your help, and I can rebuild the proud organisation that I spent so much of my time on before Diaz had to go and shoot my brother in cold blood. Without Diaz and now without Vercetti... things will be just perfect."

"Your action in this endeavour will ensure the success and foundation of your new business and your place as the overlord of Vice. So why not start now, so that your dream comes true sooner?" he asked with a grin.

Lance grinned back and clapped his hands together, "Alright then! Let's pop!"

Nicolai turned to face west, out toward the hub of Vice's underworld power. Their men could not get too far on land without getting stopped by roadblocks and squad cars and men with SMG's, but none of that mattered if they went their by air. Unfortunately, Vice had considerable air power as well. Helicopters from both sides dueled above the raging gunfire below, American Hunters tangling with Nicolai's own Hinds and Havocs. There would be jets here, soon. One thing Ockchabursk had little of. Although he could always call for more. "Gorbachev and his lackey Yeltsin think Russia's path is set for us." he chuckled and shook his head, "No... our true glory is ahead of us. Onward, my comrades, my soldiers. Today begins a new revolution."

Lance called out from the large gunship, "Hey! You talkin' to me!?"

Nicolai growled, "Get on with it!"

The Bullet screeched to a halt and both men were out of it in half a second. "FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuckfuck fuck..." CJ muttered to himself, running up the large stariway to the entrance of the mansion. Starfish Island was alive with activity right now as several helicopters circled overhead and armoured Securicars collected yesterday by Tommy's men patrolled the streets. The main gates to the island, on the only bridge left connecting it, were to be closed once everyone was confirmed to be either on Starfish or at some location on Vice City West. Barricades were being set up on the Viceport, Leaf Links and Prawn Island bridges to try and halt the advance of the Russians, giving people time to evacuate. But the majority of the public, along with the VCPD, were clueless as to what was going on. CJ came to a halt at the top of the stairs and gazed out to where they had just come from. Buildings burned, gunshots rang out and every now and then, a stray rocket from a helicopter whizzed past, high overhead. "Shit, man... this is real fucked up, Cesar man... they just keep coming."

Somebody came through the mansion's double front doors. It was Tommy, wearing his usual Hawaiian T-shirt and jeans. And he looked tense, "Toreno's just informed me, the Sovereigns are attacking with helicopter gunships and have landed their vehicles. Their cars are Sabres, with a green and red colourscheme that resembles some sort of emblem. And according to your brother, CJ, from what he saw... there are Los Santos streetgang members mixed in with them."

"FUCKIN' PERPETRATORS!" CJ howled. He wanted to shoot something. Anything that moved. Even Tommy.

Tommy ignored the outburst, "Mike estimates that they could overrun the city in a matter of hours if nothing's done to slow them down."

"So what's the plan?" Cesar asked.

"You're leaving."

"What's the REAL plan?" CJ asked, sternly.

"Toreno wants all of you back at the airport as soon as possible. I'm staying."

"You're talkin' bullshit, holmes!"

"I've defended this place from attack before, I will do it again. Even if this time I don't make it. You know what you need to do. Toreno says that whatever they are after is located in San Andreas, and this attack is just a warm-up. I want you lot out of here. NOW!"

"Tommy, man, you can't just exile us! We came here to help you!"

"And how do you plan on doing that? There's no less than an army of angry Ruski pricks heading this way, and you lot are just a couple more bodies for their count. I don't want you caught up in my little war."

"Your little war, man? The fuck?" CJ growled, "People are dying out there, man, and it's not just cos they want you! If these assholes want you, they'll have to come through all of us!"

"I appreciate this, guys, but-"

"Tommy, let 'em stay if they want." came Toreno's voice, the well-dressed man appearing outta nowhere from behind Tommy. He was always one for sudden entrances. "We can have the helicopters on standby to take them to Escobar, but til then, let's see what they can do."

Tommy's jaw twitched, and CJ could tell he didn't like that idea. But Tommy nodded, "Alright, fine, but at the first sign that things are going bad, you're outta here, got it?"

Cesar and CJ nodded.

Tommy glanced at CJ, "You know how to fire a Stinger?"

"Do I!" beamed CJ.

"What can I do, ese?"

Toreno smiled, "I got just the thing for you."

Tommy took a pace back, glaring out to the east, "Shit... here they come..." Sure enough, appearing from the giant smoke cloud that hung over the burning city, a fleet of attack helicopters began their advance upon Starfish Island, "Get everyone ready. This is it, Mike. Are Phil's lot ready?"

"Rooftop snipers and gunmen are in position!" Toreno yelled over the increasing din of dozens of Russian-built turbine engines driving their airbourne war machines. "Carl, get to the roof! Talk to Phil, he'll get you a rocket launcher! Cesar! Come with me to the garage."

'Garage?' Cesar mouthed.

There was a thunderous BOOM overhead as a missile streaked across the sky and slammed into the nearest helicopter, which seemed far bigger than the others that it accompanied. The rotor was blown clear away from the rest of the craft and it nosed downward violently. Toreno recognised it as one of their larger troop transports. Land, air, sea. The Russians had their landing forces well organised. The helicopter slammed into an open area next to the hardward store on the other side of the remaining Starfish Island bridge, and sent a plume of thick black smoke into the air as it burned, the smoke soon to mix with the rest high above, becoming one with the destruction around it. A Hydra jet and several USF-18 fighters split formation, firing off their missiles at the oncoming aerial attack fleet. Toreno beamed, "Looks like the military got here just in time! That gives us some slack, so let's not waste any of it. Tommy, unless you wanna present your head for their gunsights, I suggest you head inside!"

"I have another idea, Mike. Seasparrow all fueled up?"

"Oh, no, Tommy, not against this lot, you're mad!"

"I've pulled through some tough shit before, Mike. Why not do it again? I know you would!"

"Take care of yourself, I'll maintain radio contact."

"Let's bring this fuckers DOWN, homie!" CJ shouted.

Nicolai watched, feeling somewhat exposed upon the rooftop of the Chariot. But his men knew where he was. The people of Vice did not. To them, he'd seem like a bystander who came to the rooftop for a closer look. The staircase to the roof was not locked up, but the building would have been evacuated by now. He was safe and alone up here. He brought his binoculars to his eyes and watched as battle erupted again across Vice's skies as his helicopter legion scattered to deal with an incoming swarm of pests. He reached for his radio, and flipped open a communication channel.

"Ockchabursk, we have aerial contacts. Proceed with elimination of enemy command. Show the people of Vice what the greatest Soviet achievement can do."

"Acknowledged, sir. Preparing strategic MIRV strike."

Nicolai turned to the great black shape in the water, and waited. "Now, my comrades... our swords are drawn."

There was a flicker of light and a puff of vapours from the top of the distant craft before a round, cylindrical object rocketed up into the sky, propelled on a beam of golden light.

"This might help." muttered Toreno as he fixed a small box-like device within the Seasparrow's tailboom structure. He tapped one of the buttons on it and all sorts of lights began flickering on the machine. The Seasparrow sat in its usual spot in Tommy's backyard, between the four rectangular ponds, surrounded by ferns.

Tommy blinked, "Um, great... what is it?"

"Portable ECM and jammer. Disrupts any form of enemy target lock upon this craft. Since the Seasparrow's only got its gun, you don't have to worry about it interfering with yourself."

"And the Vice fighters?" Tommy asked.

"They have guns, too. Helicopters move slowly, they can bring them down no problem without a target lock. You sure about this?"

"I am, Mike. They're after me. It'd be stupid on my part to just sit back and let them come. Keep the island safe, ok? When this is over, we'll head over to the Malibu for a good drink."

"If it's still standing..." muttered Toreno. Tommy climbed into his helicopter as Toreno backed away, its motors revving up, the blades cutting through the air as they began to spin faster and faster. The downdraft only made Toreno retreat further. Tommy brought the helicopter upwards and tilted it forward slightly. Toreno started at the sudden burst from the Seasparrow's gun, and he saw a small vessel explode in the water nearby. A Russian landing craft? They were this far in already? Another fighter roared overhead, so loud that everything around him shook. A stray missile shot overhead, toward the Seasparrow as it ascended out over the water, before it lurched downward and smashed into the water, sending a plume of spray upwards, which the rotors of the seacopter cut through as it turned around to face off with another unseen airborne foe. There was another distant rumble, but this one didn't sound like any sort of explosion or collision that Toreno had ever heard before. He glanced up at the rooftop, wondering if it had come from a rocket that had been fired from up there. No, Toreno realised, it sounded too distant for that. He glanced out to where the foreign menace had come from.

And there he saw it.

Rising into the sky was the great flicker of golden light, rising up into the atmosphere, fired from a location far out at sea. A chill ran down Toreno's back, "Oh, shit..." he reached for the radio in his pocket and brought it to his mouth, "Tommy, you see that? To the east?"

Tommy's crackly voice replied, "Is that a missile??"

"It's a ship-launched ballistic missile, and for all we know, it's heading this way."

"No, no... look, Mike..." he paused, and there was the sound of an explosion through the speaker. Tommy was probably over the burning side of the city by now. Closer to whatever it was that had been fired, "It's turning but it's heading out Viceport way... you don't think that..."

"What could be out there that's so important to them?" Mike pondered aloud. The thunderous WHOOSH of a rocket fired from the roof made him instinctively duck just as a small helicopter spun into view out over the water. The rocket hit it side-on, knocking it sidewards before it lost its engine and spiralled downward into the water. Someone on the roof, he couldn't tell who, was cheering. The flicker of golden light had almost disappeared; it was so high up. If the Russians could take out Starfish Island with a ballistic missile, why bother wasting all their hardware and men?

"Mike, I just got word from uh... whats-his-name, uh... Sweet or whatever he calls himself."

"Go ahead."

"We got Russian gang cars heading toward the island from the Vice Point side. All the guys we sent out to slow them down are being brought back here. We make our stand on the island."

"Alright, Tommy, I'll work all this out. You just stay up there and don't bite the dust, ok?"

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this shit again, Mike. I'll be in touch."

Toreno charged up the rear steps, across the porch and into the mansion through its back entrance. He knew this place fairly well but still got lost from time to time. He made his way up toward Vercetti's office, where Tommy himself should have been right now. More distant noises of heavy weapons firing and exploding against stuff, hopefully Russian stuff, shook the building. He cursed, hoping that the whole mansion didn't cave in with a sudden missile strike. Hopefully the flares that Phil had managed to come across, old military grade, wide use in 'nam, were installed and ready by now. He wouldn't be surprised if half the world knew what was going on right now.

He picked up the radio, tuned in to all frequencies on his side, "Alright, all teams, I want a status report. How goes the pest control?"

A voice he didn't recognise, probably another of Tommy's loyalists, came back with a reply, "We have craft entering the main water system from the south, near the docks, and we're trying to hold them off here. Did anyone see that thing they fired up into the sky?"

"We did, and we don't know what it's for yet, so keep an eye out. All bridge teams, report."

"All barricades untouched, sir." was the almost instant reply. They had planned this for half a month. Toreno expected no less.

"Alright. Evac teams, what's the status of getting all immaterial personnel to the airport for San Andreas departure?"

"Um..." came the voice, "This is, uh, Wu Zi Mu... I believe we're going to the airport now. Just passing Little Havana police station."

Toreno knew the man was blind, but didn't bother asking how he knew where he was, "Alright, inform me once you are there. We may need you to stay until all this winds up. At this rate, though, we will have no problems. The military's doing its job well." He moved to the window, "Inform Cesar's girl that he's working on something that will greatly improve our chances. I'm gonna check up on him in a moment, so if you..." he broke off and nearly dropped the radio mic as something shot down from the sky, over the docks, and slammed into somewhere very close to the airport. Another streak followed it. A third streak of light rained down. It hit the Viceport bridge which spanned the bay. An explosion tore the bridge apart, sending debris crashing into the water below. At once the radio erupted with dozens of frantic voices and calls for help. Toreno could only make out a couple.

"-hit just beyond the airport-" "-WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT-" "-lost all contact with southern barricade group-" "-Sunshine Autos maintaining lockdown, will stay on the line-"

"Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?!" Toreno yelled into the mic, probably only adding to the din.

He got no reply, instead, Phil Cassidy's panicked voice screamed back, "ONE'S HEADIN' FOR THE MANSION!"

Toreno's eyes widened, "FLAAAAAARE!" he screamed. Less than two seconds later, an almighty tremor rocked the mansion and Toreno lost his balance, stumbling to his knees, "Phil, PHIL! What the fuck happened?"

After a moment, Phil replied, "Uh... the flare worked, but... I think we just blew away half the island in the process. About three mansions on the other side are jus'... gone."

"What was it? Was it a missile?"

"You tell me! Yer the military man! Looked like the same things that hit the bridge and over near the airport. Looks like they hit Fort Baxter. Russian pigs musta... I dunno, hit 'em with a missile barrage or somethin'."

"That missile they fired... it musta been a MIRV, shit! If they fire another one they could hit any point in Vice with no problem. Didn't see that coming..."

"HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Phil hollered as something made a loud noise on the radio. He was no doubt having fun, even if he only had half the number of arms that everyone else in their group had. Still the best sniper amongst them. "Mikey... We got a problem up here, all the military flyboys are acting erratic. Accordin' to radio chatter, they've lost their chain o' command. They took out Fort Baxter with that missile strike. Shook 'em up real bad. Dunno if we can still count on 'em."

"Hold up, I'm gonna head down to the garage to check on Cesar. He should have nearly finished his little mod job by now. We're gonna stop those commie pricks from getting to this island by land. Just keep and eye on us up there."

"You got it."

Toreno closed the line and left the office, barrelling down the grand staircase three steps at a time. For all he knew, they'd fire off another missile from that great black... thing, and they'd only have a few minutes to anticipate where the multiple warheads would land. With that monster out there, firing missiles, launching helicopters and landing craft... they might just win this. he had to get to the garage, before the island began to swarm with angry Russian invaders.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The time is... 1021 hours." muttered Toreno. "At 1023 we intiate."

"You sure 'bout this, man?" Cesar asked, "It's not a bad car right there, holmes. Isn't there something a little more tacky lyin' around?"

"Old wrecks won't attract as much suspicion, though, will they?" Toreno rebutted. They had driven a small two-seater Euros onto the centre of the only bridge linking Starfish Island with the rest of the city. Its dark-blue paint scheme was visible on the wall-mounted camera that Toreno had focused on it, the men huddled around a small control PC in Vercetti's garage. The distant sounds of the approaching Russian squatters penetrated and sometimes shook the walls. The airspace around the island, for now, was clear. Nobody was attempting an aerial invasion as of yet, although Toreno didn't rule out the possibility of one later. Tommy's Seasparrow was hovering just south of the mansion, right where they wanted him. Toreno would contact Tommy in a moment.

"The boys over at Escobar air traffic control report that all flights to and from the city have been halted, and that reinforcements from the USS Wyoming and Liberty City squadrons are inbound. ETA... 40 minutes." reported one of the few men Toreno brought along to help him. Referred to as 'Stinson', he was a long-time government informant placed in the VCPD to weed out possible corruption. He was placed there by Toreno himself. Now that a simple case of bad cops wasn't the most important thing on his mind, he had joined up with Toreno here and had spent the last few days monitoring the city in lead-up to the invasion that was bound to happen. He was surprised the Russians hadn't damaged more than they had, but when their target was not the general public, Toreno understood why they conserved their resources. Once they got ahold of the place, the suffering of the citizens would begin.

"40 minutes might not be enough. Do they know of the stealth ship?"

"They do, sir. As far as the CIA knows, however, there's no record of any such ship in existence."

"Don't call me sir. I work for a living..." Toreno muttered, paraphrasing an old military saying.

Cesar shook his head, "Man, this is crazy! We're talking about sealing ourself off here!"

"That's why we count on nobody 'cept 8-Ball. Only he has enough of the juice to pull this one off." Toreno smiled. Friends in high places...

"You did fine with the last one, ese."

"That was 8-Ball, too."

"1022... Mike." Stinson told his counterpart. Toreno nodded, hands folded and resting his elbows upon the desk where the computer was positioned. He smiled beneath his interlocked fingers, wondering if this would be enough, or whether there was still no hope for Vice City, this island, or Tommy. Something in the back of his head, planted there by his past experiences and his record for dealing with such events as these, told him it mightn't be. But there was always they chance that they could fight back. Outnumbered by their immense ground force and recruited soldiers, Vice's only hope came from the air. But if that abomination out there in the ocean fired another one of those missiles, that hope might fade very fast. That, or there wouldn't be any Vice City left. He rotated the camera to the right, showing the burning high-rises down by Ocean Beach. Some of them were lucky to be still standing. Others had mercifully crashed down long ago, sparing onlookers of the horrendous sight of watching one of the city's icons slowly consumed by flame. He hoped he'd never see such carnage again. But if only it were that easy.

He picked up his little radio thing, "Tommy... feel free to head out now. Get their attention, let them know it's you."

Upon the little radar screen on the second monitor, the little blip to the mansion's south began to move. It slid over toward the eastern island, and toward an area of land that was under the ownership of Avery Carrington, who had been in quite an uproar about the Russians "tramplin'" his turf all morning before being moved over to the western island with all other non-essentials. No point in dying in a war as a business man. Not exactly the most distinguised way to end. Tommy's voice crackled over the rather patchy line, "I got them, they're tailing me now!"

Toreno focused the camera on the bridge, where the Euros was parked, idling. "Got it Tommy. We'll get as many as possible. Thank Mr Vialpando for rigging the fireworks."

"Still a nice car, man..." Cesar muttered, hands in his pockets.

The Seasparrow quickly ducked into view on the screen before zipping out of picture again, the blip re-entering Starfish Island airspace. What followed was a mass of deep green cars so numerous that it looked like some sort of citywide procession. "Ladies and gentlemen!" Toreno announced, his finger hovering over the spacebar, "Time for some Bloodring!"

TAP

Instantly the Euros tore itself apart as the brigade of Russian muscle cars engulfed it and stormed past, exploding with such force that the whole building shook. The Russian cars, all bearing the same insignias on their hoods, had slowed to investigate whether the small and compact sports car was friend or foe, and by the time they worked it out, it was too late. Those not caught up and incinerated by the enormous explosion were catapulted off the bridge and into the water. Just like the other day, faking Tommy's death. Only this time, there were no unnecessary civilian casualties. Only acceptable enemy losses. As expected, the bridge's supports gave way and the roadway collapsed into the water, taking charred cars with them. The archway at the end of the bridge fractured into splinters of plaster, the gates toppling with the bridge into the cold blue grave. The remaining cars ground to a halt, several occupants getting out, brandishing their weapons.

Cesar snarled, "Ballas!" he swore in his native tongue, his knuckles white with contained rage.

Toreno smiled, "We're on our own now, gentlemen. Tommy, how you holding up?"

"I wonder how easily this bird's gun can pop a fuel tank." he chuckled, "With them all clustered together like that, they'll all go up if just one gets hit." he heard a bullet strike against the tail structure, which prompted him to press down on the trigger, hard. From beneath the bubble canopy, the Seasparrow's minigun let loose, rocking the cabin and reminding Tommy that he was still alive, whereas those down below would not be for long. He panned the gunfire along the blockade of Sabres, shattering windscreens, puncturing panels and mowing down those foolish enough to step out of their vehicles. Then one bullet entered a car to the forward-left of the mob, ripping through its fuel tank at such force that the heat generated by the impact and the friction against the fuel within lit a tiny spark.

The car seemed to bulge as its innards lit up, before splitting apart and spewing flames everywhere, lashing the cars around it and setting them alight, too. Tommy nodded to himself, satisfied. A good portion of their ground team was crippled. Things were looking alright. He swung the Seasparrow around, taking in the half-wrecked island before him. But when he glimpsed side to side of the island, his face fell. He saw not just one or two but an entire armada of tiny boats laden with about five people each coming at Starfish Island from either side. Just then, Toreno called, "Tommy, hope you know that we've picked up another aerial unit from the Russians. This one's quite huge. How many things can they fit into that floating barge they've got out there?"

Tommy felt something freeze over inside him. Answering the call, he muttered, "Mike, meet me in the yard."

"Sure thing, Mr V. What're your orders?" Toreno asked, almost playfully.

"You're leaving." he sternly replied. Before Mike could even think of a reply, he closed the line.

Mike stormed toward the Seasparrow, "Tommy, what the hell!?"

Tommy popped the door of the heli open before the blades had even stopped spinning. "I'm not gonna argue with you Mike. See up there?" he pointed skyward. Toward the clear, slightly cloudy sky overhead. "The military was called off. The rest of our choppers are either down or occupied. And on both sides of this island is a landing fleet. If they set foot on this island, they'll ransack the mansion until they take everything that is mine. If you get out of here, Mike, at least you can stop their main plan."

Mike glanced around, as though seeking ideas, "But... Carl has a Hydra, he could bring it over and-"

"One Hydra, Mike..." Tommy shook his head, "You'd be throwing Carl's life away in some stupid rescue idea. Mike, it's over. You all need to get out of here. You are the only ones who know about their objective."

"We're taking you with us, then!" Mike protested.

Tommy smiled. A sort of saddened smile, "Mike, I've defended this place from half the mob. I'm sure a few Russians won't stand much of a chance. I'm the only reason they're here."

"And if you're iced, they'll take over Vice!"

"Let them!" Tommy growled, moving up the outer stairwell toward the rear entrance, "Taking over Vice won't win their little war. Taking whatever they want from the government will. Take everyone you brought with you and get the hell out of Vice, Mike. Look after them, ok? There's a Maverick still on the roof. Take everyone you can fit. Some have already left. I'm staying."

"T-Tommy..."

"Mike... go!" he ordered. Mike hesitated, before turning and bolting indoors for the rooftop helipad. Tommy leant against the balcony rail, staring southward at the glistening waters and the forms of tiny 5-man landing craft slowly sweeping toward him. He had a feeling this might have been it. Nobody stays on top forever. After six years, the reign was over. Tommy's only regret was not being whacked by a more prominent underworld figure. That, and not checking up on Mercedes this week - she had been complaining of strange illnesses, so he felt guilty for not being on hand for her more often. His hands gripped the stone rail and his eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into a snarl, "Come and get me, you goddamn pricks!" he snarled. He whirled and slipped inside, into the hallway and straight into the main chamber. He heard the sound of a helicopter starting up. He smiled to himself. Convincing to get Mike Toreno to do anything that he found out of place was a very tough ask. He finally got through to him after three years. He entered his office, crouched beneath the main desk and pulled out an M-4 assault rifle, an Italian-made combat shotgun, and retrieved his favourite pistol, a Colt Python, from the filing cabinet. All stashed here for a time like this. The island was cut off. The last heli had left. No boats. He was alone. He sat down at his desk and smiled. Would anybody miss him? Umberto might, and no doubt the chubby Cuban and his gang would talk of him and his 'big cojones', but in ten years' time, Tommy doubted he'd be anything more than a memory. This place had long lost the stench of the corpses of Mafia thugs and their boss Sonny. Tommy hardly remembered what his old boss even looked like. However took over this city next would think the same of him, a decade down the road. He sighed and waited for his guests to knock.

Several minutes passed before Tommy heard a buzz coming from his cellphone, the one he picked up off a man he killed in an Ocean Beach alleyway. The only people who called him were those few entrepeneurs who felt courageous enough to discuss business propositions to him mano-a-mano. But with his empire in lockdown, all businesses closed and assets under wraps, there was no way anybody would be calling yet. Unless Vice's little war was over and everyone was emerging from their homes. Yet, there was one person...

Tommy felt a tingle down his spine when he answered his phone, hearing a heavy Soviet accent speaking back to him, "Mister Vercetti... Tommy... Vercetti... I'm assuming I need to give no introduction?"

For the first time ever, Tommy replied to the Russian caller, "It'd be the only polite thing you've done recently, asshole."

The man chuckled. So calm. So fucking annoying, "Yes, Mister Vercetti, I've been told that you have quite the sharp tongue. My name is Adrik Nicolai, and I am a former officer and tactician of the Red Army, the glorious armed force of the Soviet Union."

"Get with the times, prick, there is no more Soviet Union. The Wall came down, Gorbachev declared glass...nox... or whatever, and the world pulled its pants up."

"Mister Vercetti, I am astonished that you are unaware of our purpose here. The goal of myself and my followers is to correct history's greatest oversight."

"The fact that the Harwood Butcher became Vice's king of kings for six years and you didn't get off your asses to get rid of me sooner?" he was playing with them and loving it. Fun before death. Could be worse...

"Your charm never fails you, Vercetti, but I am not one for games. Vice will become our foothold, from which we can bring down the rest of America and make them pay for their crimes."

"You know, if you wanna do that, then stop yapping about it and actually kill me. I'm sitting here, waiting. Get your landing craft to storm this place and overwhelm me. Or have those big missiles launched on that place. That way I could go down and make headlines. C'mon! You know ya wanna!" he dared.

Another soft chuckle, "Mister Vercetti, we would never waste the resources of Ockchabursk itself to eliminate someone as minor as yourself." 'Ockchabursk' mouthed Tommy. Was that the giant ship? Or the missile? And if he was so minor, then why invade the city and kill its citizens just to get to him? "Mr Vercetti, I have arranged a special parting gift. You will notice that our landing craft are diverting to other points on both sides of the city. They will not be your audience today."

"Shit..." muttered Tommy. He wanted to rip through a few Commie carcasses...

"Instead, I have somebody who wishes to speak with you. But first he needs better line of sight. One moment..."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. Then he heard the sound of somethin rocketing toward him. He was nearly blown out of his chair as a thunderous roar cut through the building, the forward end of the mansion caving in just above the main entrance, the whole front of the mansion blown apart suddenly. Tommy swore over the deafening noise, and picked himself up off the ground. That was a missile strike! But when he glanced at the radar screen that was still operating on the PC by the wall, he saw nothing. Long range weapon? Or a rocket launcher? His ears stopped ringing after a moment, an eerie silence filled the mansion again except for a distant rumbling that he could not pinpoint. He picked up the phone from the floor and screamed into it, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT, YOU FUCKING PRICK!?"

"Just a moment, Mr Vercetti. My friend would like to speak with you. If you would, please direct your attention to the north, just above the rooftops."

Vercetti followed his instruction, gazing out the gash blown in the front of his estate. He squinted as he focused beyond the rooftops and palm trees and half-demolished properties to find a small grey object, floating in the air, growing ever-gradually larger. The source of the distant rumble. Tommy's eyes widened as it approached. It was unlike any sort of helicopter Tommy had ever seen before. If helis were fish, this one was the shark. The craft was bulky and formidable, small winglets containing an array of underslung weapons. Its paintscheme was almost midnight black, and the helicopter's curvature explained why radar could not see it: stealth. A pair of giant rotoblades, one atop the other, spun in opposite directions, eliminating the need for a tail-rotor on its V-shaped empennage. He couldn't quite make out the pilot. Although he was sure that he was seeing things, but the pilot looked a bit like-

"Mister Vercetti, listen up." Nicolai's voice instructed.

Tommy brought the cellphone to his ear as the helicopter slid closer, entering a stationary hover over the main street. The voice he heard chilled him to the bone.

"SURPRISE, TOMMEH!!"

Tommy's eyes widened, "LAN-" he was cut off by a hail of gunfire that let loose from the nose-mounted turret on the giant black stealth, ripping through walls and shredding mounted portraits and eviscerating everything in its way. Tommy ducked, the turret swivelling, pocketing the entire mansion with a deadly spray. He ran onto the grand staircase and ducked as the rain of bullets passed over his head, ripping apart his office behind him. It was firing through the gash it created so he got below aiming height. Behind him, he heard the walls of his mansion begin to creak as their strength was literally blown away, leaving a cratered remnant. Tommy realised he still had the phone in his hand, and he brought it to his ear, trying to think of anything to say. Everything above the staircase had just been ripped apart. But he heard only a derisive laughter through the speaker.

"I've waited a loooong time for this, Tommeh."

"How the hell-"

"Say goodNIGHT, Mr Vercetti."

Tommy heard a loud whoosh. Two of them. Two warheads shot through the wall cavity. Missiles. INSIDE the mansion. "FUCK!" Tommy screamed as the two missiles roared over his head, slamming into the office behind him.

The whole city seemed to quake for a moment as its most prominant mansion, the Vercetti Estate, tore itself asunder. The enormous white building was obliterated in a single, incredible eruption of flame and flying debris, which cascaded outward from the burning property, consuming everything around it. The hedge maze on one side of the building was smothered by the wave of fire, as were the palm trees forward of the driveway. The mansion's turret-like parapet on its easter side literally blew its roof before collapsing inwards. The tiny Seasparrow was lifted into the air by the force of the explosion, its fuel tank igniting and ripping the tiny chopper to fragments. Flames spilled into the bay, onto the road, and across the island's lush greenery, setting everything ablaze. The giant helicopter hovered above it all, its pilot extremely satisfied with what he had accomplished at the touch of a button. He picked up his handset.

"This is Wraith One. Target neutralised, mission complete. Proceding back to Ockchabursk." he informed. Then he lowered the handset, clicked it back onto its holder, and gave a small salute in the direction of what was left of his former partner's home, "Adios, Tommeh... you got too old for it."

Carl Johnson set the Maverick down on what was once a flat and open patch of greenery on the mansion's outer limits. Everything around the mansion that had once been green was now a horrid black, most of it still smoking. No matter where you were in Vice, everyone had seen the mansion's demise. He powered down the helicopter and stepped out of it, hoping that, by any sort of miracle, Tommy had gotten out. Flames still flickered on scorched bushes and tall palms, the smoke rising like a thick dark beacon into the late morning sky. CJ always thought that scenes like this were supposed to be accompanied by dismal weather with thunder, lightning and little light. And yet, everything about the weather seemed perfect. Vice City's tropical paradise had not stopped to watch the passing of Tommy's 6-year empire. Gone, in an instant, its headquarters destroyed. He muttered to himself, disgusted. The Russians had actually won.

The rest of the crew were waiting at Escobar. The leader of the Russian invaders, a man named 'Nicolai', had addressed all citizens on the radio and by any other means of public communication, and informed that they will commit no more hostile acts unless provoked. They claimed their mission was complete, and that the city now belonged to 'The Motherland'. Bullshit, CJ thought. They were just jealous cos it snowed to much in Russia.

All flights had reopened at Escobar, and Sweet was intent on leaving this paradise lost and returning to San Andreas, where they could finish business. CJ had stopped him up for one moment, just to make sure they didn't have any more passengers to bring along.

He walked along what was once the mansion's rear courtyard, with its four sparkling ponds, small monolithic poles of quartz and huge, bushy shrubs. The shrubs had been burnt to a swizzle, the stone pillars shattered and the ponds now filled with murky debris and dirt. The wrecked structure of the mansion lay before him, ruins piled so high he didn't know where Tommy could have hidden. And, if his body was still intact, where it might be buried. The Vercetti Estate was his pride and his joy. And now, seemingly, his tomb. Only a few areas of the outer wall remained standing, but it was all blackened to almost beyond recognition. Half a bubble canopy, warped and scorched, was all CJ could find of the trust Seasparrow.

"TOMMY!" he called. He knew he'd sound stupid to anyone else who witnessed that explosion. He had seen it from Downtown. "HEY, TOMMY! YOU 'LIVE!?" he hollered. He was, literally, talking to a brick wall. Or what was left of it. He made his way around the side, past more once-pristine pools now clouded with so much wreckage that there was more dirt in that water than water. The front of the property was just... gone. As though no walls had ever been built. He was amazed to find the giant stone staircase that lead to where the main entrance was still inact, albeit similarly burned, like the rest of this place. He saw inside (or what had been inside) and was met with a terrible feeling inside, like reliving a bad memory. He had been inside this building less than an hour ago, and standing atop it even more recently. There was no roof left; it had all caved in. "TOMMY!" he yelled again, into the smouldering ruin. He expected no reply, and didn't wait for one, turning to investigate some more.

But a reply came anyway, "C-Carl..." came a weak voice.

CJ whirled, "Jesus! Tommy, how the hell ditchoo-"

Tommy Vercetti shut behind him the only functional door left in the whole place. The door lead to the holding area inside the grand staircase, which had somehow survived (although it looked less like a staircase and more like a giant chunk of obsidian now), and dusted himself off. His shirt was ripped and his shoulder and face were bleeding. He walked with a limp. "Who knew that... hiding underneath a bunch of stairs would save you, eh?"

"You're hurt, man, we gotta get ya outta here!"

Tommy glanced down at himself, and coughed a little. CJ hoped his wounds were external only, as he was beginning to like him. They'd make a good team, he thought. "Hmm... mustn't have... stopped everything from fallin' on me... and my head hurts like shit..." his gaze darkened, "Lance..."

"Who?" CJ asked.

Tommy shook his head, "N-Nevermind, I... I think I better sit down, and..." he coughed again. He had inhaled a lot of smoke. "I must look like an idiot, eh?"

"Whatchoo mean, man?"

"I spent all this time... gloating about how I anticipated death... wanted to fight off anyone who intruded upon my mansion and... nagged with a Russian moron who wanted to send me to hell with gift-wrapping... and then when they try and kill me, I hide under some stairs and live... pretty dumb huh?"

"Not exactly the most, uh... heroic ending, if I might say so." CJ offered. Tommy only smiled. He glanced around at what was left of his home of six years.

"So what now? The very core of my organisation is gone. I have nothing. They wanted to kill me, but I'm alive yet ruined. Isn't that almost as good?"

"C'mon, man, we're gonna get you to the airport, clean you up, and then we're gettin' you outta here before those motherfuckas come headhuntin' again."

Tommy squinted, "Out of here? To where?"

CJ put his hand on Tommy's shoulder, "We know what they plan to do next. Come with us, man. Come with us to San Andreas so we can stop these fuckin' idiots from screwing up our world. Consider it a way to get payback. Whatchoo say, playa?"

Tommy glanced at the ruined mansion again, before turning back to CJ, "If it means I get some revenge... and I might be able to finish some old business..." he grinned, "Count me in. This place has been my home, but... now that it's gone, I guess I need the next best thing."

CJ beamed, "That's what I like to hear, man!"

"I guess I got my things together," Tommy muttered, shrugging, "Hope the flight is a long one. There's... there's a lot we need to discuss."

-------------------------------

How was that, guys? I can assure you, there's more to come and I will NOT take as long to update again, I assure you! I apologise again for the huge wait. I would not call this my best work of fiction, but I wanna make this as good as possible, so all your helpful insights, tips and contributions are greatly encouraged and appreciated.

See y'all round for the next one!!

Griddles.


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